IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


1.1 


Bii^jB    |25 
ttt  U2   12.2 

Sf   tiS.    12.0 


11.25  i  1.4 


I 


1.6 


Fhotographic 

Sdences 

Corporation 


23  wnT  MAIN  STMIT 

WIUTIR,N.Y.  14SM 

(71*)  •73-4903 


4^ 


A^ 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  l\/licroreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiquas 


;V 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notas/Notat  tachniquas  at  bibiiographiquas 


The  Inatituta  has  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  bast 
original  copy  availabia  for  filming.  Faaturas  of  this 
copy  which  may  ba  bibiiographically  uniqua. 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  images  in  tha 
rapruduction.  or  which  may  significantly  changa 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


□    Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 

□    Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommagie 

□    Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur^a  et/ou  peliicul6e 


D 


□ 


D 


D 


Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I    Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  giographiques  en  couleur 


□    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

□    Coloured  plates  and/oi  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

□    Bound  with  other  material/ 
ReiiA  avac  d'autras  documents 


Tight  binding  may  causa  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serrAe  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intiriaura 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  tha  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  cartalnas  pages  blanches  aJout4as 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissant  dans  la  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  Atait  possible,  ces  pagea  n'ont 
pas  «t4  film«as. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentairas  supplAmantairas; 


L'Institut  a  microfilm*  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  At*  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
da  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibllographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mAthoda  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquAs  ci-dessous. 


r~~|   Coloured  pages/ 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagias 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaur^as  et/ou  peilicul6es 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxe( 
Pages  dAcoiories,  tachaties  ou  piquAes 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  ddtachdes 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Qualit^  in^gale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  matarii 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppKmantaire 


I — I  Pages  damaged/ 

I      I  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

I      I  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 

I      I  Pages  detached/ 

r~pr  Showthrough/ 

r^  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I  Includes  supplementary  material/ 


Tha 
totf 


The 
pos'j 
of  tl 
fiimi 


Grig 
begi 
the  I 
sion 
othfl 
first 
sion 
or  ill 


D 
D 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  ref limed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalament  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  fauillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc..  ont  M  filmAes  A  nouveau  de  fapon  A 
obtenir  la  mailleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  tha  reduction  ravio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film*  au  tau.K  da  riductlon  indiqu*  ci-daaaoua. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

^.■■'WKtU 

0 

The 
shall 
TINI 
whi( 

Map 
diffe 
entii 
begi 
right 
requ 
metl 


«;iX 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Victoria  Univarsity  Library  Toronto 


L'exempiaire  filmA  ffut  reproduit  grice  #  la 
g4n4rosit6  de: 

Victoria  Univarsity  Library  Toronto 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6tA  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  ia  nettetA  de  l'exempiaire  filmi,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exempiaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimte  sont  filmte  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exempiaires 
originaux  sont  filmfo  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  pape  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  y  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparattra  sur  ia 
dernlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — »>  signifie  "A  SUiVRE".  le 
symbols  y  signifie  "FIN". 


IVIaps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  certes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
fiim6s  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diffArents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  film*  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite. 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  ia  mAthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

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Under  SEALED 
ORDERS 

a  ilotjel  of  3Lo\je  anli  atiVimture 

By     GRANT     ALLEN 

Author  of  *' Linnet, ^^   "Miss   Cay/ey's  Adventures,^'   Etc. 

gillujsitrateD  b?  i^»  C.  (EDtpatDjai 


GROSSET     6f     DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS       :       :       NEW     YORK 


PZ 


— ) 


CARMMMI/I 


Copyright  1896 

BY 

NEW  AMSTERDAM  BOOK  COMPANY. 


67?76 


UNDER   SEALED    ORDERS 


CONTENTS 


L  na  BID  OOVTAttI    —.«««„  ^  1 

n.   A  MTSTEBIOUI  VniTOB  —  —  •»■•  f 

m.  OUAIDIAH  AND  WABD               «.               ^  ^  «,        If 

IT.   DIFLOlfATIO  DISOIPUNl             ^               ^  ^  ■,        11 

T.    'OHBROHll  LA  fBlUU'             ^               ^  «•  ^.        17 

Tl,  A  ORITIOAL  ITINIKa                 «,              ^  ^  ^14 

▼n.  A  PUOTOOmAPHIO  STDOr          -.             ••  ^  41 

Tin.  DANOSB  AHIAD         — t               «•               «■  Ag 

IX.   TAMILT  BUBIim*      .«■•«,  ^  50 

Z.  AN  VNBXPSCmD  BNOOUMnB  «.               .«  ^  (| 

XI.  MAN  PBOFOSM           -.  «.  ^        7t 

XII.   TINS  ABT    .«                „_,  ^  ^        yg 

Xin.  THB  HIOHBB  BDUOAnON  OP  WOMBB      •,  ^  82 

XIT.  ION*  IN  XNatAND     —               ^               «,  ^  •■ 

XV.  AN  INVITATION           —               «,               ^  ^  Q| 

XVI.  AT  LADT  FjSAUMONT'b                —                ■■  ■«  101 

XVU.  IN  THB  00UB8B  Of  BDdUrMB                   ^  ^  Z     108 

XVin.  THB  NIHILUT  OHIBV                   ^              ^  lie 

XIX.  00M8PIBA0T                 —■■■•»,    \  IJl 

XX.   aOBB  TBMFTED            ...-.«,  ^  ^                  127 

XXI.  THB  BQCALITT  0»  WOMAN        «.               ,^  ^  «.      llf 

XXn.   THB  NBMK8I8  0»'  OCLTOBB       .  lAt 

^                           MB  MM  (M          Xfti 

XXin.  THB  PAI'H  Of  DDTT                     «,               ^  j^j 
XXIV.  PALTFAIN*  WITH  BIN                 -■•■•■""     1 65 


C0NTBNT8 


XXT.  A*  AWrOi  80MMTI0K  — 

XIVI.  TH»  0W8I8  OOMM  — 

XXVIL   OW«N  DBBATB8      ^  •— 

XXVin.  THB  BUBBLl  BUBBT8  (M 

ZXIZ.  BWHNNINO  AIMSH  .« 
XXX.   THl  BULB  OF  THB  OBDKB  ^ 

XXXI.   SHADOWS  or  OOMINO  BVII. 

XXXn.  OOOD-BIB                 •••  —• 

VXXin.  A  SIBAHOB  BUOOBSTION  — 

UXIT.  BBHTBNOB  OF  DEATH  -» 

XXXT.   DIBOIPUNB              —  — 
XXX' A.   'HOO  **^'  ^"  VOTIB* 

ZXXm.   AH  DKHAVPT  AFOBTATB  ^ 

zzxvm.  BAD  wews  from  kikff     «. 

SXXIX.   fOKTONB'B  WHBBL  ^ 

XL.   •OOOD-BTB— FOB  IVBBr  .« 

XII.  LAUBBL-LEAVES     m>  — • 

XUl.  BAD  MATBRIAli     mm  •— 

XUn.  TO  MOSCOW  —  "• 

XUV.  TBAFS  FOB  FOXBS  — 

XtV,   1  LA  BU8SB  .^  "• 

XtVl.  0B08BIN0  THB  BUBIOOS  -. 

XLVII.   A  SINOUIAB  INCIDENT  — 
XIVIII.  THE  VALLBT  OF  THB  SHADOW 

XUX.  AT  THE  THIBD  SECTION  ... 
L.   BUBIC  BBASBOFF'B  IIABTTBDOII 
U.  AND  AFTBB!           —  •-» 

m.  AWAT  oYii  ni  maLMTO  — 


les 

170 

177 

188 

189 

196 

201 

207 

211 

217 

223 

228 

233 

239 
245 
251 
257 
263 
,  269 
.  276 
.  280 
.  286 
,  291 
.  297 
.  802 
-  807 
•  811 
.  817 


UNDER    SEALED    ORDERS 


CHAPTER  L 


TKB   BED    OOTTAQB. 


All  these  fine  things  were  to  be  seen  in  Saoha's  stndio. 

Now,  Saoha's  studio  was  allowed  to  be  the  preiitiest 
room  in  all  the  house.  Sacha  said  so  herself,  indeed, 
and  she  was  an  authority  on  decoration.  And  she  said 
the  truth.  Such  a  queer  little  lop-sided,  five-cornered, 
irregular  nook  of  a  room  you  never  saw  in  all  your  life. 
It  was  built  out  from  one  angle  of  the  external  wall, 
and  lighted  up  from  the  north  side  by  a  big  square  bay- 
window,  which  projected  cornerwise,  anyhow,  into  the 
lawn  and  orchard.  It  was  quaint  because  it  never 
aimed  at  quaintness ;  it  achieved  it  unconsciously.  And 
the  outlook  was  charming,  too,  over  the  brook  and  the 
hillside ;  no  more  satisfying  view,  Sacha  held,  among 
the  Surrey  hills  than  the  larches  above  and  the  pear- 
trees  below  as  seen  across  the  foreground  of  lavender 
and  poppies  from  her  studio  window-seat  at  the  Bed 
Cottage.  Throw  in  an  easel  or  two,  carelessly  posed, 
a  few  soft  Liberty  draperies,  a  Lewis  Day  wallpaper,  an 
Oriental  rug,  a  great  Japanese  screen,  and  Aunt  Julia's 
black  silk  gown  (with  Aunt  Julia  inside  it)  to  give  dignity 
to  the  foreground,  and  there,  as  well  as  this  poor  band 
can  draw  it,  you  have  a  fair  rough  sketch  of  Sacha 
Cazalet's  sauctom* 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


11 


'  For  my  part,'  said  Owen,  straightening  his  arm  and 
then  bending  it  so  as  to  display  the  biceps,  '  I  shouldn't 
mind  a  little  rain.  The  heavier  the  ground  is,  the  better 
my  chances.' 

Sacha  looked  up  at  him  in  his  becoming  running  suit ; 
he'd  been  sitting,  or  rather  posing,  for  her  as  joint  winner 
at  the  tape  in  her  spirited  picture  of  '  A  Dead  Heat — the 
Finish,'  and  she  thought  to  herself  as  she  looked,  though 
he  was  her  own  brother,  that  a  handsomer  or  finer-built 
or  stronger-looking  young  man  wasn't  to  be  found  that 
day  in  the  length  and  breadth  of  England.  She  drew  a 
deep  breath,  and  added  a  delicate  touch  to  the  stiffened 
muscle  of  the  straining  forearm. 

'  But  it'd  be  a  pity,'  she  said,  stepping  back  a  pace 
and  surveying  her  own  work  critically,  *  if  it  rained  whilo 
we're  actually  on  the  ground  to-morrow.  You  men  have 
no  thought.  Consider  our  nice  new  gowns,  and  hats, 
and  feathers.' 

'  It's  a  dreadful  waste  of  time,'  Aunt  Julia  interposed, 
smoothing  her  immaculate  white  hair  behind  her  blame- 
less lace  head-dress.  '  I  shall  be  glad  when  it's  all  over, 
I'm  sure,  and  you  get  back  to  your  books  again,  Owen. 
Young  men  of  twenty  ought  to  have  something  else  tc 
busy  themselves  about  In  the  world,  it  seems  to  me, 
besides  high  jumps,  and  hundred  yards,  and  half-miles, 
and  hurdle  races.' 

Aunt  JuUa  mentioned  the  very  names  of  those  offensive 
exercises  with  a  certain  high-sniffing  dislike,  and  as  if 
between  unwilling  quotation  marks.  A  model  district 
visitor.  Aunt  Julia,  if  ever  there  was  one ;  a  distributer 
of  tracts  and  good  counsel  gratis ;  a  pillar  of  orthodoxy; 
a  prop  of  the  University  Central  African  Mission. 

'Mr.  Hay  ward  approves  of  them,'  Owen  answered 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  stifles  opposition  by  citing  a 
crushing  authority.  *  I  suppose  you  don't  want  me  to 
neglect  Mr.  Hayward's  wishes  ?  He  says  what  he  desires 
above  all  things  is  to  see  me  a  typical  English  gentle- 
man. Now,  there's  nothing  more  English  than  athletics, 
vou'll  admit.  Aunt  Julia.  He's  always  delighted  when 
he  finds  me  going  in  hot  and  strong  for  cricket,  and  foot* 
ball,  and  boating.    *'  Be  cosmopolitan  in  your  ideas,"  h# 


THE  RBD  C0TTA6B  $ 

•ayi  to  me  always — "  as  cosmopolitan  as  you  can  make 
yom^elf ;  bnt  be  English  in  your  pursuits,  your  costume, 
your  habits." ' 

'  I  don't  think  he  need  be  much  afraid  of  that,'  Sacha 
put  in  with  a  smile,  washing  her  brush  out  in  chloroform. 
*  You're  English  to  the  backbone,  Owen ;  I  could  tell  by 
the  very  build  and  set  of  your  limbs  you  had  true  English 
blood  in  you.' 

*  Well,  if  it  rains  to-night,'  Owen  went  on,  releasing 
himself  from  his  fatiguing  pose,  and  flinging  himself  down 
like  a  young  giant  on  the  capacious  window-seat,  '  I  shall 
puU  off  the  mile ;  and,  after  all,  that's  the  only  event  of 
the  whole  lot  I  really  care  twopence  about.' 

Aunt  JuUa's  curiosity  was  so  fully  aroused  by  this  un- 
expected avowal  that  she  deigned  for  a  moment  to  display 
a  passing  interest  in  athletics. 

'Why,  I  thought,'  she  cried,  astonished,  'you  were 
certain  of  the  long  jump,  and  the  half-mile,  and  the 
cricket-ball.' 

'  That's  just  it,'  Owen  replied,  stretching  his  left  arm  in 
turn,  and  then  retracting  it  suddenly.  'I'm  safe  as 
houses  for  those,  and  so  I  don't  mind  a  bit  about  'em. 
But  I'm  no  good  at  all  for  the  mile  imless  the  ground's 
heavy.  On  light  ground  Charlie  Skene's  sure  to  beat  me. 
If  it  rains  there'll  be  a  good  race — like  Sacha's  picture 
there — and  that's  just  what  I  love — won  by  a  neck  at  the 
finish.'  And  he  glanced  at  his  own  shapely  limbs  on  bis 
sister's  canvas  with  not  unnatural  approbation  of  her 
handicraft  or  her  model. 

'  Better  go  and  put  on  your  other  clothes  now,'  Aunt 
Julia  remarked  with  an  undercurrent  of  doubt.  She  was 
never  quite  sure  in  her  own  mind  whether  it  was  exactly 
right  for  Sacha  trt  pamt  even  her  own  brother,  let  alone 
the  professional  model,  in  so  light  and  airy  a  costume ; 
besides  which,  those  short  sleeves  must  be  conducive  to 
rheumatism.  Aunt  Julia  pinned  her  faith  on  the  protec- 
tive virtues  of  red  flannel  If  she'd  had  her  own  way, 
she'd  have  cased  Owen  from  head  to  foot  in  that  triple 
armour  against  assailing  chills.  But  there  I  what  can 
one  do  ?  Toung  peopls  cowAdays  are  so  self-wiJUed  and 
obstinatt  1 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


i 


! 


Owen  rose  from  the  window-seat  and  shook  himself 
like  a  big  dog  just  released  from  the  kennel. 

'  Well,  they  are  rather  chilly  to  sit  in/  he  admitted, 
reading  Aunt  Julia's  mind,  which,  for  the  rest,  was  an 
open  book  with  very  few  pages  in  it.  *  I  don't  mind  if  I 
do  go  and  put  on  my  toggeries  ;  but  I'll  just  take  a  sharp 
trot  first  round  the  meadows  to  warm  me.' 

He  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  door,  on  the  point  of 
starting,  when  a  timid  knock  outside  made  him  open  it 
suddenly.  Martha  was  standing  there  with  an  envelope 
on  the  salver.  A  well-trained  servant,  Martha.  She 
knew  it  was  as  much  as  her  place  was  worth  to  burst  into 
the  studio  without  leave  while  Miss  Sacha  was  painting 
there.  If  there's  anything  on  earth  that's  destructive  to 
a  work  of  art,  in  pigments  or  words,  it's  continual  inter- 
ruption in  the  midst  of  your  working  hours.  And  to  dis- 
turb a  model's  pose,  Sacha  often  remarked,  is  nothing 
short  of  criminal. 

'  What  is  it  ?'  Owen  asked,  taking  the  envelope  from 
the  salver. 

•  Telegram,  sir,'  Martha  replied.  *  Boy's  waiting  below 
in  the  'all  for  the  answer.' 

Owen  read  it,  and  bit  his  lips. 

'  Well,  this  is  just  annoying  I'  he  cried.  '  Who  do  yon 
think's  coming  down  ?  Mr.  Hayward  himself — and  at 
twelve  o'clock  to-morrow.' 

A  sudden  silence  fell  all  at  once  upon  the  little  listen- 
ing group.  They  looked  at  one  another  and  bit  theu*  lips 
in  embarrassment.  Clearly,  some  unexpected  damper 
had  been  put  at  once  upon  all  Owen's  plans.  Sacha  was 
the  first  to  break  the  awkward  pause. 

'  At  twelve,'  she  said  musingly.  '  And  the  sports,  I 
think,  begin  at  ten,  don't  they  ?' 

•  Nominally  ten,'  Owen  answered,  still  regarding  ihe 
telegram  with  a  very  rueful  face,  '  but  that  always  means 
practically  half-past  ten  or  thereabouts.  Punctuality's  a 
virtue  that  hasn't  been  yet  evolved.  They  take  such  a 
precious  long  time  clearing  the  course  and  so  forth.' 

Sacha  consulted  the  card  of  the  sports  and  then  the 
local  time-table. 

•  You'd  have  time,  if  yoa  liked,  for  the  hundred  yarls. 


THE  RED  COTTAGE  S 

And  perhftps  the  long  jump,  too,  before  his  train  gets  in,* 
she  said,  with  as  doep  an  interest  as  if  thousands  were 
at  stalie ;  '  and  even  then  you  could  go  down  to  the 
train  in  your  flannels  to  meet  him.  But  you'd  miss  the 
mile,  and  that  you  say  's  the  only  event  of  the  lot  you 
care  about.' 

Sacha  had  lived  long  enough  in  an  athlete's  family, 
you  see,  to  know  that  '  event '  was  the  propei  word  to 
apply  to  these  particular  engagements. 

Aunt  Julia  beamed  horror  through  her  scandalized 
spectacles. 

*  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say,  Sacha,'  she  cried  with 
what  breath  she  could  muster  up  from  the  depths  of  her 
outraged  bosom,  •  you  thought  Owen  might  go  down  to 
meet  Mr.  Hayward  at  the  Moor  Hill  Station  in  those 
dreadful  racing  things  ?' 

Sacha  gazed  up  at  her  blandly. 

'  Yes  I  did,  auntie,'  she  answered  in  that  calm,  soft 
voice  of  hers.  '  That  was  exactly  my  idea.  Why  not  ? 
They're  so  becoming.' 

The  want  of  reverence  for  their  elders  in  young  people 
nowadays  is  positively  something  little  short  of  appal- 
ling. 

Aunt  Julia  gasped. 

*Go  .  .  .  down  ...  to  the  station  ...  in  thosa 
clothes?'  she  repeated,  feebly  gazing  at  Owen,  open- 
mouthed.     •  Oh  I  Sacha,  how  can  you  ?' 

Owen  watched  his  sister's  face  askance  to  see  what 
she'd  answer.  But  that  imperturbable  young  lady  had 
made  up  her  mind  by  this  time. 

•  No,  you  had  better  not  go,  my  dear,'  she  said 
promptly,  after  a  short  pause  for  consideration.  '  Don't 
be  at  the  station  at  all.  Bun  your  races  exactly  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  Mr.  Hayward  '11  be  pleased  that 
you've  trained  and  gone  in  for  so  many  prizes.  There's 
nothing  he  likes  better  than  seeing  you  a  thorough 
Englishman.  Never  mind  about  him.  I'll  run  down  to 
meet  him  myself,  and  bring  him  up  to  the  field  to  you.' 

'  Sacha  1'  Aunt  Julia  ejaculated  once  more.  It  was 
all  she  could  say.  The  situation  was  too  dreadful 
Words  failed  her  to  express  herseli 


6  UNDER  SBALBD  ORDBR8 

Bat  her  niece  was  not  a  young  woman  to  be  turned 
from  her  purpose  by  the  interjectional  application  of  her 
own  Christian  name.  She  knew  it  abready.  She  was 
three  years  older  than  Owen,  and  her  character  was 
more  formed ;  besides,  she  was  a  professional  artist  and 
earned  her  own  living.  Your  independent  woman  is  a 
feature  of  this  age.  She  has  acquired  initiative.  She 
thinks  and  acts  for  herself,  without  the  need  for  a  father, 
a  husband,  or  a  brother  to  lean  upon. 

'  Martha,'  the  independent  woman  said  briskly,  turning 
round  to  the  maid,  '  bring  me  a  telegraph  form  hrom  the 
dining-room.'  And  Martha  flaw  down  for  it  like  one 
who  knew  that  Miss  Sacha  at  least  would  not  be  kept 
waiting. 

The  mistress  of  the  studio  sat  do?m  at  her  desk  and 
filled  it  in : 

'  Delighted  to  see  you  to-morrow.  Owen  bu3y  athletics, 
Will  meet  you  at  station  myself,  unless  rain.  Wire  back 
if  you  wish  Owen  to  stop  awaj. 

*  Saoha  Oaxaus.' 

She  handed  it  across  to  her  brother. 

'  Will  that  do  ?'  she  said  quietly. 

Owen  stepped  nearer  and  kissed  her. 

'  Tou  are  a  brick,  Sacha,'  he  said,  '  and  no  mistake  t 
How  splendidly  you  manage  things !  That's  just  the  way 
to  do  it.' 

*  For  my  part,'  Aunt  Julia  observed,  glancing  over  his 
shoulder  through  her  spectacles  with  the  disapproving 
eye  before  which  many  a  beer-absorbing  labourer  in  the 
village  had  quailed  in  his  shoes,  '  I  call  it  exceedingly 
disrespectful  from  a  boy  like  Owen  to  a  man  in  Mr.  Hay- 
ward's  position.' 

'  Oh,  hd  won't  mmd,'  Sacha  answered,  like  one  who 
knows  her  ground.  '  He's  a  very  odd  man,  of  course. 
And  be  demands  obedience.  But  he  goes  in  above  every- 
thing for  making  Owen  athletic.  It's  the  spirit,  not  the 
letter,  Mr.  Hayward  cares  about.  He'll  be  delighted  to 
come  up  to  the  grounds  and  see  him  run.  Don't  you  be 
afr&id,  auntie.  I'll  make  things  all  right  with  him«  I 
promise  you,  at  the  station.' 


▲  ICYSTBRIOUS  VISITOa 


OHAPTEB  IL 


A  MTBTBBIOUB  VI8IT0B. 

Al  the  12.4  train  steamed  into  Moor  Hill  Station  next 
morning  Sacha  was  there,  to  her  word,  in  good  time  to 
meet  it.  A  handsome,  upstanding,  self-contained  sort  of 
a  girl,  Sacha  Cazalet,  not  un worth"'  in  physique  to  be  a 
orack  athlete's  sister.  As  she  stood  there  on  the  plat- 
form, in  her  soft  artistic  dress  and  her  wide-brimmed 
Bubens  hat,  with  the  calm,  strong  face  beneath  it,  she 
looked  as  if  she  might  have  stepped  that  moment  straight 
out  of  one  of  her  own  graceful  and  earnest  pictures. 

The  train  pulled  up  with  a  jerk.  '  Mer-ill,  Mer-ill, 
Mer-ill !'  cried  the  porters  in  chorus  in  their  accustomed 
shorthand,  and  a  passenger  or  two,  divining  by  good 
chance  that  these  cabalistic  sounds  represented  Moor 
Hill  in  the  vernacular  tongue,  descended  slowly  from  the 
carriages  with  bags,  rugs,  and  bundles.  Amongst  them 
was  one  noticeable  man  in  a  rough  tweed  suit — tall,  thin, 
and  time-worn,  but  a  typical  aristocrat  as  to  mien  and 
features,  with  a  clear-cut,  statuesque,  intellectual  face, 
olean-shaven  all  over  but  for  its  heavy  black  moustaches. 
He  came  down,  it  is  true,  in  a  third-class  carriage,  and 
he  had  nothing  in  his  hand  but  a  stout  untrimmed  stick, 
which  he  had  evidently  cut  for  himself  on  some  black- 
thorn-covered common ;  but  he  was  none  the  less  a 
gentleman  confessed  for  all  that — blue  blood  shone  clear 
in  his  face,  his  walk,  his  tone,  his  gestures. 

The  noticeable  man  took  Saoha's  hand  cordially,  with 
a  certain  stately  condescension,  yet  as  one  who  liked  her. 

'So  "^ou  came  to  meet  me,  Alexandra?'  he  said, 
smiling,  '  That  was  awfully  good  of  you.  Your  plan, 
of  course.  You  did  quite  right  to  let  Owen  go  off  to  his 
■ports  unmolested.  I  appreciated  your  telegram.  But 
there  1  that's  your  way — you  can  always  be  depended 
upon.' 

*I  wish  ^ou  wouldn't  call  me  Alexandra,'  the  girl 
answered  with  a  little  shudder,  yet  taking  his  hand  ai 
cordially  as  he  gave  it.  '  You  know  I  hate  the  nama, 
I  alwayi  lo  much  prefer  to  be  known  as  Sacha.' 


8 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


Mr.  Hayward  turned  towards  the  gate  and  gave  up 

his  ticket. 

«  Alexandra's  so  much  better,  though,'  he  said  slowly, 
in  his  soft,  musical  voice.  '  It's  good  English  now,  since 
a  princess  brought  it  over.  All  English  names  come 
across  to  us  in  the  last  resort  with  a  prince  or  princess. 
We  haven't  got  a  native  one.  WiUiam,  and  Henry,  and 
John,  and  Eobert,  came  over  with  the  Conqueror; 
Ernest,  and  Augustus,  and  Caroline,  and  Sophia,  came 
over  with  the  Georges  ;  Alexandra,  and  Olga,  and  Chris- 
tian, and  Dagmar  came  over  with  the  very  latest  royal 
importations.  But  English  snobbery  seizes  on  them  and 
adopts  them  at  once.  That's  the  English  fashion. 
Whereas  Sacha  carries  date,  as  you  say  about  your 
gowns.  People  are  sure  to  inquire  when  they  hear  it 
in  what  country  of  Europe  Sacha's  short  for  Alexandra. 
And  that,'  he  paused  a  second,  '  would  interfere  with  my 
views  for  Owen's  future.' 

'  I  prafer  the  name  I've  always  been  called  by  myself,' 
Sacha  interposed  quietly,  and  then  closed  her  lips  short. 

It  was  diamond  against  diamond  with  those  two,  both 
firm  as  a  rook  in  their  own  fixed  opinions. 

Mr.  Hayward  answered  nothing — at  least,  not  directly. 

<  Owen  Cazalet,'  he  murmured  with  a  sigh,  as  if  half 
to  himself,  rolling  it  over  on  his  tongue — '  Owen  Cazalet, 
Owen  Cazalet.  Couldn't  have  anything  that  would  sound 
much  more  British  than  that,  I  flatter  myself.  Though 
Owen's  Welsh,  to  be  sure,  when  one  goes  to  the  bottom 
of  things,  and  Cazalet's  Huguenot.  But  British  enough 
as  times  go  nowadays — British  enough,  Owen  Cazalet. 

•  For  myself,  I  confess,  if  it  weren't  for  business  pur- 
poses,' Sacha  replied  obliquely,  '  I  should  much  prefer 
in  many  ways  my  cwn  family  name.  I  hate  disguises. 
But  of  course,  as  I've  got  to  be  known  now  as  Sacha 
Cazalet  to  picture-buyers  and  publishers,  I  must  stick 
to  it  for  the  future.  As  an  illustrator  my  practice 
depends  largely  on  the  name.  It's  a  good  trade-mark 
for  the  purpose,  thank  Hep.ven  t — distinctive  and  striking. 
And  I  can't  change  it  naw  unless  some  amiable  young 
man  chooses  to  oiler  me  his,  which  doesn't  seem  likely 
in  the  present  state  of  society/ 


A  MYSTERIOUS  VISITOR 


•  Well,  I'm  glad  you  can't  change  it,  my  child,'  Mr. 
Hayward  said,  not  unkindly,  looking  down  at  her  with 
eyes  of  unfeigned  admiration.  He  was  old  enough  to 
be  her  father,  and  he  spoke  to  her  always  with  a  certain 
old-fashioned  paternal  courtesy,  much  as  a  Louis  Quinze 
marquis  of  the  stately  type  might  have  spoken  before  the 
Court  to  mademoiselle  his  daughter.  '  It  would  be  a 
pity  if  any  such  suggestion  of  un-English  antecedents 
were  to  stand  in  the  way  of  my  plans  for  your  brother's 
advancement.' 

'  It  would,'  Sacha  replied.  *  I  admit  it.  I  acquiesce 
in  it.' 

They  walked  on  together  to  the  cricket-field,  where  the 
sports  were  to  be  held,  Mr.  Hayward  stopping  every 
now  and  then  with  genuine  delight  in  the  country  to 
admire  some  pretty  spray  of  young  bramble  or  cluster 
of  hart's-tongue  in  the  hedgerow.  He  had  an  artist's 
eye  for  nature,  like  Sacha's  own.  The  tangled  richness 
of  the  stitchworts  and  red-robins  by  the  wayside  seemed 
to  charm  and  impress  him. 

'It's  a  sweet  country,'  he  said  at  last,  pausing  and 
gazing  deep  into  the  recesses  of  the  bush-grown  bank. 
*  What  exquisite  depths  of  shade  I  What  luscious  rich- 
ness of  foliage  I' 

'  Tes,'  Sacha  replied,  in  the  same  tone ;  '  such  a 
struggle  for  life,  too,  isn't  it  ?  Each  fighting  for  his  own 
hand ;  each  craning  and  straining  to  overtop  the  other. 
Like  the  world  we  live  in.' 

*  As  it  stands  now,'  Mr.  Hayward  assented  gravely — 
<  a  tangled  maze,  a  mere  unorganized  thicket.  Yet 
some  day  it  might  become  an  ordered  and  orderly 
garden.' 

'That  would  be  so  much  less  picturesque,  though,' 
Sacha  suggested,  sighing. 

•Less  picturesque?  Yes,  perhaps,"  Mr.  Hayward 
cried,  like  one  who  sees  some  vision  of  delight.  '  But, 
oht  Sacha,  what  of  that?  More  useful  and  more 
hopeful  1' 

As  they  reached  the  cricket-field  Sacha  glanced  around 
for  a  moment  to  see  where  among  the  crowd  of  spectators 
Aant  Julia  was  seat  ad.    Her  quick  eye  soon  picked  out 


tJNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


II 


II 


the  Immaculate  white  hair  among  a  little  group  of  local 
dignitaries  near  the  centre  by  the  pavilion.  Mr.  Hay- 
ward  advanced  and  lifted  his  hat  to  Miss  Gazalet  with 
that  indescribable  air  of  courtly  chivalry  that  was  well- 
nigh  inseparable  from  his  smallest  action.  Aunt  Julia 
received  the  bow  with  mingled  respect  and  distant  dis- 
approbation. A  strange  sort  of  man,  Mr.  Hayward,  not 
tone  counted  upon  in  some  things;  quite  a  gentleman 
in  every  sense  of  the  word,  of  course ;  but  somehow,  to 
Aunt  Julia's  district-visiting  type  of  mind,  extremely 
awe-inspiring  and  not  a  little  uncanny.  She  was  never 
quite  sure,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  as  to  Mr.  Hayward's 
principles.  And  principles  were  to  Aunt  Julia,  as  to 
the  British  matron  in  general,  objecti  of  a  distinct  and 
almost  idolatrous  reverence. 

Mr.  Hayward  joined  the  group,  and  fell  into  the  con- 
Tersation  at  once  with  the  practised  skill  of  a  man  of 
the  world.  They  were  discussing  '  that  dangerous  book,' 
*  A  Bural  Idyll,'  by  Margaret  Forbes,  which  Aunt  Julia 
considered  '  undermined  the  very  groundwork  of  our 
social  morality.' 

Lady  Beaumont,  the  county  member's  wife,  lolling 
back  on  her  chair,  gave  a  languid  e.ssent ;  she'd  read  the 
story  herself,  and  only  remembered  now  she'd  found  it 
interesting ;  but  as  Miss  Gazalet  disapproved  of  it,  why, 
of  course,  as  politeness  demanded,  she  disapproved  in 
concert. 

It  was  Miss  Forbes  thsy  were  talking  about?  Mr. 
Hayward  asked,  smiling  curiously.  Ah,  yes,  a  very 
clever  woman,  too,  and  a  bishop's  daughter  I  What  an 
irony  of  fate  I  He'd  heard  one  or  two  good  stories  in 
town  abou  her.  Mrs.  Forbes,  the  bishopess,  was  quite 
proud  of  t  te  book's  success ;  but,  as  her  daughter  re- 
marked, '  If  I  hadn't  written  ilf  mamma  wouldn't  have 
touched  it  with  a  pair  of  tongs,  you  know.' 

He  kn>ew  her  then,  Lady  Beaumont  suggested,  with  a 
•areless  interest,  from  the  chai   beside  Aunt  Julia's. 

Mr.  Hayward  waved  a  graceful  and  half-deprecatory 
Begativs.  I^o,  he  didn't  exactly  know  her— that's  to  say, 
■ot  as  OB  visiting  terms — but  from  time  to  time  he  ran 
ap  against  her  in  Londoa  drawiog-rooms.     Sooner  o( 


A  MYSTERIOUS  VISITOR 


11 


Ifr. 


later,  in  fact,  one  ran  np  against  almost  everybody  \(  ortih 
knowing  in  any  way.  London's  so  small,  you  see ;  and 
the  world's  bo  shrunken  nowadays. 

Lady  Beaumont  glanced  the  mute  inquiry  with  her 
languishing  eyes :  *  And,  pray,  who's  your  fine  friend  ?• 
Aunt  Julia  introduced  him  with  a  rather  awkward  con- 
sciousness :  '  Lady  Beaumont :  my  nephew's  guardian — 
you've  heard  me  speak  of  him — Mr.  Hayward.' 

The  county  member's  wife  put  up  her  long-handled 
tortoiseshell  quizzing-glass,  'the  aristocratic  outrage' 
Sacha  always  called  it,  and  surveyed  Mr.  Hayward  for 
full  fifty  seconds  with  such  a  keen,  searching  glance  as 
only  your  hardened  woman  of  society  dare  ever  bestow 
on  a  fellow-creature. 

A  plain  Mister,  then  1  She'd  imagined  him  a  general 
at  least,  if  not  a  baronet  or  an  honourable.  Mr. 
Hayward  stood  it  out  calmly,  unmoved  and  unconscious, 
witn  that  imperturbable  smile  of  his.  Then  he  drew 
over  a  vacant  chair  with  one  well-bred  hand,  sat  down 
upon  it  just  behind  them,  and,  as  if  on  purpose  to  over- 
come some  initial  prejudice,  began  a  delightful  flow  of 
the  most  amusing  gossip.  Even  Lady  Beaumont  smiled 
often.  He  handled  small-talk  like  a  master.  And  how 
he  knew  his  world,  tool — Paris,  Vienna,  Berlin,  Con- 
stantinople, the  little  German  spas,  the  Norwegian  fiords, 
the  Dutch  and  Danish  kurhauses,  the  Pyrenean  watering- 

E laces.  Who  was  there  at  Cannes  whose  whole  domestic 
istory  he  hadn't  at  his  finger-ends  ?  Who  was  there  at 
Florence  whose  flirtations  with  the  Marchese  This  or  the 
Contessa  That,  as  case  and  sex  might  be,  he  couldn't 
chronicle  fluently?  What  family  skeleton  lurked  secure 
in  its  native  cupboard  from  his  piercing  scrutiny  ?  And 
it  wasn't  all  mere  scandal  and  gossip,  either.  There  was 
history  in  it  as  well ;  profound  grasp  of  national  life, 
profound  knowledge  of  the  twists  and  turns  of  human 
nature.  For  Mr.  Hayward  was  a  psychologist,  and  while 
he  fitted  his  conversation  to  his  hearers'  intellects,  he 
Always  let  you  feel  through  it  all  that  he  himself  was 
something  higher  and  bigger  than  the  world  he  der,cribed 
— ^that  he  laughed  in  his  sleeve  all  the  while  at  iti  foiblei 
ftnditifollief. 


IS 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


I 


iS 


As  for  Sacha,  sitting  beside  him  and  listening  silently, 
as  was  her  wont— for  she  was  restrained  of  nature  and 
little  given  to  speech — to  his  brilliant  flow  of  witty  society 
talk,  she  couldn't  help  wondering  to  herself  now  and 
again  how  a  man  so  intelligent  and  so  able  as  Mr.  Hay- 
ward  could  possibly  lower  himself  to  so  feeble  a  level, 
could  waste  himseli  contentedly  on  such  an  unworthy 
flow  of  pure  human  tittle-tattle.  And  Mr.  Hayward,  on 
his  side,  too,  seemed  to  be  conscious  of  her  feeling,  for 
with  infinite  tact,  he  managed  to  turn  to  her  now  and 
again,  and  add,  as  it  were  for  her  special  benefit,  a  little 
aside  containing  some  profounder  reflection  or  some  more 
interesting  detail.  Was  it  Madrid  he  was  talking  of? 
After  he'd  rattled  on  to  Aunt  Julia  and  Lady  Beaumont 
of  that  famous  bull-fight  where  the  Duke  of  Medina-Goeli 
got  his  collar-bone  broken,  he  went  off  at  a  tangent  for  ten 
minutes  with  a  word  or  two  to  Sacha  about  the  blaze  of 
colour  in  the  streets,  or  the  Murillos  in  the  Prado.  Was 
it  to  Venice  he'd  got  now?  After  describing,  for  the 
listening  group  in  front,  his  adventure  in  a  gondola  with 
the  editor  of  the  Fanfulla  and  a  Neapolitan  prima  donnft, 
he  diverged  into  a  little  private  disquisition  behind  on 
the  mosaics  of  St.  Mark's  and  the  Athenian  lion  at  the 
gate  of  the  Arsenal. 

Altogether,  '  A  most  well-informed  man  of  the  world/ 
Lady  Beaumont  thought  to  herself.  '  Quite  an  acquisi- 
tion for  the  day  in  our  society  at  Moor  Hill,  in  spite  of 
his  principles,'  Aunt  Julia  reflected  inwardly ;  and 
'  What  a  pity  he  wastes  his  talents  so  I'  Sacha  meditated 
with  regret.  But  she  was  wrong,  for  all  that.  He  wasn't 
wasting  them — not  a  bit  of  it.  That  was  his  rdU  in  hfe. 
To  be  all  things  to  all  men — and  all  women,  too — ^better- 
ing even  the  comprehensive  apostolic  injunction — was  the 
secret  of  his  profession. 

At  last  there  came  a  pause,  a  sudden  break  in  the  flow- 
ing current.  The  mile  was  now  on,  and  Sacha  saw  for 
herself  that  all  the  while,  amid  his  gossip,  though  Mr. 
Hayivard  was  so  fluent  of  varied  experiences  in  all 
eomers  of  Europe,  his  eyes  had  none  the  less  followed 
Owen  perpetually  round  the  field  with  quite  as  much 
eagerness  and  oonstanoy  as  her  own  had  done.    At  tbt 


A  MYSTERIOUS  VISITOR  i$ 

finish  he  bent  his  head  forward  for  a  moment  in  anxiety, 
then  sprang  from  his  chair  in  his  joy. 

'Bravo!  bravo T  he  cried,  clapping  his  hands  with 
unaffected  delight  as  the  tape  fell  forward.  *  Owen  wins  I 
Owen  wins  I  Well  done,  my  boy  I  Well  done  I  You 
must  be  proud  of  him,  Miss  Cazalet.  A  splendid  race, 
and  just  carried  by  a  fine  spurt.  I  never  saw  anything 
better  in  my  life  than  the  magnificent  way  he  did  those 
last  ten  yards  in  I* 

He  sat  down  again,  quite  flushed  with  vicarious  pride 
in  his  ward's  success.     His  face  was  beaming. 

'  I  wish  I'd  brought  my  little  snap  camera  with  me,'  he 
cried,  *  to  take  an  instantaneous  of  that  final  dash-in.  It 
was  so  beautiful,  so  perfect.  The  action  of  that  boy's 
limbs,  like  a  thoroughbred  racer's — why,  it's  a  picture  to 
look  at.' 

At  the  v/ords  Lady  Beaumont  raised  the  class  outrage 
once  more,  and  took  a  second  long  stony  stare  at  tha 
well-informed  stranger.  Could  it  be  ?  No,  impossible  1 
But,  yes,  she  was  sure  of  it.  She  couldn't  be  mistaken 
now.  She'd  suspected  it  from  the  very  first,  and  in  those 
words  the  man  himself  as  good  as  admitted  it.  No 
colonel  I  No  baronet  I  But  a  common  man  from  a  shop 
in  London  i 

'  I  think,'  she  said  very  deliberately,  in  that  glassy, 
cold  voice  of  hers,  *  I've  seen  you  before,  Mr.  Hayward. 
You  say  one  knocks  up  against  almost  everybody  in  town, 
and  I've  knocked  up  against  you  somewhere.  Haven't 
we  met — at  a  photographer's  shop,  I  think — in  Bond 
Street r 

Aunt  Julia  quailed.    Sacha  leant  forward  curiously 
Lady  Beaumont  tapped  her  quizzing-glass  on  her  knee 
with  the  air  of  a  detective  who  unmasks  a  clever  disguise. 
Mr.  Hayward  himself  alone  smiled  on  blandly  as  ever. 

•  Yes,  I  remember  it  perfectly,'  he  said,  with,  if  possible, 
a  still  more  self-possessed  and  high-bred  air  and  manner 
than  before.  '  At  Mortimer  and  Co.'s  in  Bond  Street. 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  a  sitting  from  you  for  the  Gallery 
of  Fashion.  I  edit  the  series.  My  name's  Lambert 
Hayward;  but  in  Bond  Street  I'm  known  under  tha 
style  and  title  of  Mortimer  and  Co.,  photographers.' 


UNDER  SBAtBD  ORDERS 


il 


■ 


There  was  an  awkward  panse,  though  only  an  in- 
finitesimal one.  Lady  Beaumont  flushed  crimson.  But 
Mr.  Hayward  was  too  perfect  a  conversationalist  to  let 
even  such  a  point-blank  thrust  from  a  very  clumsy  hand 
mar  the  effect  of  his  caiiserie.  He  went  on  with  the 
subject  at  issue  as  unconcernedly  as  though  Lady  Beau- 
mont were  in  the  habit  of  dining  every  evening  with  her 
photographer. 

'And  instantaneous  views  are  a  perfect  passion  of 
mine,'  he  continued  carelessly.  '  I  love  to  get  a  good 
subject,  like  Owen  in  that  last  spurt,  or  a  yacht  at  the 
turning  point,  to  catch  a  really  graceful  movement  and 
record  it  in  a  lightning  flash.  You'd  hardly  believe, 
Lady  Beaumont,  how  much  skill  and  knowledge  it 
requires  to  choose  the  exact  instant  when  a  figure  in 
motion  is  at  its  picturesque  best.  But  Sacha  here  knows 
it  well.  Even  the  most  exquisite  dancing  has  a  great 
many  intermediate  points  or  passing  attitudes  that  are 
artistically  impossible.  Only  a  few  select  poses  are 
really  useful  for  art,  and  those  few  must  be  discriminated 
and  registered  with  incredible  rapidity.' 

'  So  I  should  think,'  Sacha  interposed,  not  unappre- 
ciative  of  the  gracious  tact  of  his  tribute  to  her  artistic 
taste,  as  well  as  the  unusual  concession  implied  in  calling 
her  by  her  pet  name  of  Sacha ;  '  and  I've  often  noticed, 
indeed,  how  much  all  instantaneous  photographs,  except 
yours,  Mr.  Hayward,  are  wanting  for  that  very  reason 
m  spirit  and  vigour.  The  others  look  wooden,  ;^nd  un- 
real, and  angular — yours  alone  are  instinct  with  actual 
life  and  motion.' 

Ah,  you  look  at  them  with  an  artist's  eye,  you  see,' 
Mi.  Hayward  responded  quietly;  'the  more  we  under- 
stand the  difficulties  to  be  encountered  ard  overcome  in 
any  art,  however  mechanical,  the  more  do  we  learn  to 
appreciate  it  and  to  respect  its  producers.' 

Lady  Beaumont  leant  back  in  h^  rough  rush-bottomed 
chair,  and  knit  her  brows  abstractedly.  The  problem 
was  not  yot  solved,  it  was  only  intensified.  Who  on 
earth  could  he  be,  then,  this  strange  high-bred-looking 
man,  with  the  manners  of  a  diplomatist  and  the  acquire- 
ments of  a  8<want,  who  yet  turned  out  to  be  nothing 


GUARDIAN  AND  WARD  IB 

more,  when  one  came  to  look  into  it,  than  a  photo^pher 
in  Bond  Street  ?  She  remembered  now  she'd  been  struck 
when  he  *  took '  her  by  his  gentlemanly  address  and  his 
evident  knowledge.  But  she  certainly  never  credited 
him  then  with  the  close  familiarity  with  men  and  things 
which  he'd  shown  in  his  rambling  and  amusing  oon- 
versation  that  morning  in  the  oricket-fieldi 


CHAPTEB  m 

AUABDIAN  AND  WAMX 

Aftbb  a  few  minutes'  more  talk  it  struck  Miss  Cazalel 
suddenly  that  Mr.  Hayward  had  only  just  come  down 
from  town,  and  would  not  improbably  approve  of  a  little 
light  refreshment.  Sacha  and  Lady  Beaumont,  however, 
refused  his  courtly  offer  of  an  escort  to  the  luncheon  tent, 
and  were  left  behind  on  their  seats  as  he  strolled  off 
careleiisly  across  the  grounds  with  Aunt  Julia  beside 
him. 

'  My  dear  Sacha,'  Lady  Beaumont  began,  as  soon  as 
he  was  well  out  of  earshot,  still  following  him  through 
the  quizzing-glass,  'what  an  extraordinary  man!  and 
what  an  extraordinary  trade — or  ought  one  to  say  pro- 
fession? Why,  till  I  recognised  who  he  was,  do  yon 
know,  I  took  him  for  a  gentleman.' 

'  So  he  is,'  Sacha  responded  quietly,  but  with  crushing 
force.  '  A  gentleman  all  over.  I  never  met  anybody 
who  deserved  the  name  better  than  our  Mr.  Hayward.' 

She  spoke  with  proprietary  pride,  as  if  the  man  be- 
longed to  her. 

Lady  Beaumont  let  drop  the  outrage,  scanned  her  close 
with  the  naked  eye,  and  then  hedged  prudently,  as 
became  a  county  member's  wife,  who  must  conciliate 
everybody. 

'  Oh,  of  course,'  she  said,  with  a  slight  drawL  '  A 
perfect  gentleman — in  voice  and  manners ;  one  can  see 
that  at  a  glance,  if  only  by  the  way  he  walks  across  the 
lawa    But  I  meant,  I  took  him  at  first  sight  for  somo* 


1 1 


x6 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


body  really  distinguished — not  connected  with   trade 
don't  you  know :   a  gentleman  by  birth  and  education 
and  position     A  military  man,  I  fancied.    You  corud 
have  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather,  my  dear,  when 
he  said  right  out  he  was  a  photographer  in  Bond  Street.* 

*  You  said  it,  you  mean,  not  he,'  Sacha  answered 
sturdily.  '  He  wouldn't  have  obtruded  his  own  affairs 
without  due  cause  upon  anybody.  Though  he's  gentle- 
man enough,  if  it  comes  to  that,  to  be  rather  proud  than 
ashamed  of  his  business.  But  as  to  his  being  a  gentle- 
man by  birth  and  position,  so  he  is,  too.  I  don't  know 
much  about  his  history — he's  an  awfully  reticent  man ; 
but  I  know  he's  a  person  of  very  good  family,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  and  has  taken  to  photography  partly 
from  love  of  it,  and  partly  because  he'd  lost  by  an  un- 
expected reverse  the  greater  part  of  his  fortune.' 

Lady  Beaumont  mused,  and  toyed  nervously  with  the 
quizzing-glass. 

'Well,  of  course,  these  are  topsy-turvy  times,'  she 
said,  nodding,  with  a  candid  air  of  acquiescence.  '  One 
never  knows  what  odd  trade  a  gentleman  bom  may  take 
to  nowadays.  Lord  Archibald  Macnab's  in  a  tea-broker's 
in  the  City,  I'm  told;  Lady  Browne  keeps  a  bonnet- 
shop  ;  and  I  went  into  an  upholsterer's  in  Oxford  Street 
the  other  day,  and  only  learnt  afterwards  that  the  person 
who  owns  it,  and  sells  pots  and  pans  and  wall-papers, 
is  an  Oxford  man  and  a  poet.  .  .  .  Still,  I  took  Mr. 
Hayward,  I  must  say,  for  something  more  than  that — 
something  rtally  distinguished,  don't  you  know.  He  has 
the  manners  of  an  Austrian  count  or  an  Italian  prince. 
I  should  have  thought  him  a  foreigner,  almost — though 
he  speaks  English  perfectly — but  a  foreigner  accustomed 
to  the  very  highest  society.' 

'  So  he  is,'  Sacha  retorted  once  more  as  stoutly  as  ever. 
No  country  baronet's  wife  should  shake  her  allegiance  to 
the  Bond  Street  photographer.  '  Not  a  foreigner,  I  don't 
mean,  for  he's  an  Englishman  born,  he  tells  me,  but 
accustomed  to  mixing  with  the  best  people  everywhere.' 

'Not  &  foreigner?'  Lady  Beaumont  repeated,  rolling 
the  words  on  her  tongue  with  an  interrogative  quiver. 
*  Baoh  stately  manners  as  his  are  so  rare  in  England. 


GUARDIAN  AND  WARD 


1| 


We  should  tliink  them  too  empresses.  And  how  he  trills 
his  r's,  too  I  Have  you  noticed  that  trick  of  his  ?  He 
says  R'rome,  per'rhaps,  Sor'r'ento,  char'rming.' 

•He  lived  a  good  deal  abroad  as  a  boy,  I  believe,' 
Bacha  answered,  in  the  tone  of  one  not  anxious  to 
continue  the  subject.  •  He  was  partly  brought  up  in 
Sweden,  if  I  remeoiber  right ;  and  he  caught  the  trilled 
f  there,  and  has  never  got  over  it  since.  But  his 
English  in  all  other  ways  is  as  good  as  yours  and  mine 
is.' 

She  might  truthfully  hfive  added,  as  far  as  Lady 
Beaumont  was  concerned,  '  and  a  great  deal  better  too '; 
but  she  was  prudent,  and  restrained  herself. 

When  a  man  sees  there's  any  subject  you  don't  want 
to  talk  about,  he  avoids  it  instinctively,  as  a  natural  point 
of  good  manners.  When  a  woman  sees  the  same  thing 
her  curiosity's  aroused  at  once,  and  she  compels  you  to 
go  on  with  it  exactly  in  proportion  as  she  finds  you  desire 
to  evade  her  questions.  Lady  Beaumont  saw  Sacha 
didn't  want  to  talk  about  Mr.  Hayward,  so  of  course  she 
pressed  her  hard  with  more  direct  inquiries.  Tnat's 
what's  known  as  feminine  tact. 

'  He's  your  brother's  guardian,'  she  said  musingly,  after 
a  moment's  pause.  '  I  suppose,  then,  he  was  a  very 
great  friend  of  your  poor  father's.' 

Sacha  winced  almost  imperceptibly,  but  Lady  Beau- 
mont was  aware  of  it. 

'  Not  exactly  his  guardian,'  the  girl  answered  after  a 
short  internal  conflict.  •  Not  by  my  father's  will,  that  is 
to  say.  He  felt  an  interest  in  Owen,  on  poor  papa's 
account,  and  he's  done  what  he  could  for  him  ever  since, 
so  we  call  him  his  guardian.' 

*  Oh,  indeed  I  Is  he  rich  ?*  Point  blank  at  Sacha'a 
head,  as  only  a  woman  of  good  society  would  dare  to  pose 
the  question. 

'  I  don't  know ;  he  never  showed  me  his  income-tax 
return.  I  should  say  that  was  a  question  entirely 
between  himself  and  the  Commissioners  of  Inland 
Revenue.' 

It  was  straight  from  the  shoulder  as  Sacha  knew  how 
to  hit.    But  Lady  Beaumont  sat  gtill  and  took  it  ■imilipg. 


T 


a 


UNDB&  SEALED  ORDERS 


I 


not  being  quick  enough  or  agile  enough  indeed  to  dodgt 
it  lightly. 

'  Well,  does  he  seem  rich,  then  T  she  persisted,  as  nn- 
perturbed  as  if  Sacha  were  charmed  with  her  conversa- 
tion. '  Does  he  spend  money  freely  ?  Does  he  live  well 
and  handsomely  ?' 

*  He  spends  very  little  on  himself,  I  should  say,'  Sacha 
answered  somewhat  curtly, '  and  a  great  deal  upon  other 
people.  But  he's  not  a  communicative  man.  If  you 
want  to  know  all  about  him,  why  not  ask  him  direct  ? 
Ton  did,  you  know,  about  the  photographer's  shop  in 
Bond  Street.' 

Lady  Beaumont  looked  up  at  her  with  a  face  of  im- 
passive scrutiny.  For  so  young  a  woman,  this  painting 
girl  was  really  most  self-possessed.  But  the  county 
member's  wife  was  not  to  be  sat  upon  by  an  artist, 
however  large  and  well  built. 

'Owen's  going  into  the  diplomatic  service,  I  think 
Miss  Gazalet  told  me,'  she  began  again  after  a  strategic 
pause. 

'  Into  the  diploDL  itic  service.  Yes.  If  he  can  get  in/ 
Sacha  admitted  grudgingly,  for  she  hated  to  let  out  any 
further  information. 

Lady  Beaumont  poked  her  parasol  into  the  turf  at  her 
feet  and  egged  out  a  root  of  grass  or  two  in  a  meditative 
fashion. 

'  It's  a  curious  service  for  a  young  man  to  go  in  for, 
unless  he's  really  rich,  or  at  the  very  least  has  expecta- 
tions in  the  future,'  she  remarked  in  the  air,  abstractedly. 
'  They  get  no  pay  at  all,  you  know,  for  the  first  two  or 
three  years,  and  they  must  spend  more  as  attachia  than 
their  salary  amounts  to.' 

'  So  I  believe,'  Sacha  replied,  without  moving  a  muscle 
of  that  handsome  round  face  of  hers.  '  It's  a  service  for 
rich  young  men,  I've  always  been  given  to  understand. 
A  career,  not  a  livelihood.  Honour  and  glory,  not  filthy 
lucre.' 

'Then,  why  does  Owen  go  in  for  it?'  Lady  Beaumont 
asked  straight  out,  with  that  persistent  inquisitivenesi 
which  some  women  of  the  world  think  so  perfectly 
becoming. 


GUARDIAN  AND  WARD 


X9 


'  I  don't  know,'  Sacha  replied.  '  He  is  of  age.  Ask 
him.  Perhaps  it  may  be  because  Mr.  Hayward  wishes 
it.' 

'  Oh  1'  Lady  Beaumont  said  shortly.  She'd  got  what 
she  wanted  now.  A  rich  relation,  no  doubt,  of  whom 
they  were  all  ashamed,  and  whose  money  they  expected 
to  get,  whilb  disowning  his  business. 

The  talk  glided  off  by  degrees  into  other  channels. 
By-and-by  Aunt  Julia  and  Mr.  Hayward  returned.  They 
brought  with  them  a  third  person — that  Brazilian  from 
Bahia  with  the  very  curly  hair  who  was  stopping  with 
the  Fergussons  at  Ashley  Towers.  Mr.  Hayward  was 
discoursing  with  him  in  very  fluent  French.  At  that 
Lady  Beaumont  pricked  her  ears  up  to  hear  what  he 
said.  She  couldn't  follow  it  all — her  ear  for  spoken 
French  was  still  a  trifle  untrained ;  but  she  heard  a  good 
deal,  and  took  the  rest  in  instinctively  (which  is  why 
women  learn  languages  so  much  quicker  than  men). 
'  Perfectly,  monsieur,'  the  mysterious  photographer  was 
remarking  in  that  clear  bell-hke  voice  of  his.  '  This  is 
an  age  of  trains  de  hixe.  To  live  in  the  world  to-day 
you  must  follow  the  world  as  it  flits  across  four  flying 
continents.  It's  a  common  British  mistake  of  ours  to 
suppose  the  universe  stops  short  at  the  English  Channel. 
Error,  error,  error  I  It  even  extends  beyond  Paris  and 
Switzerland.  Most  Englishmen  fancy  they  know  the 
world  if  they  know  London,  Brighton,  Ascot,  Scar- 
borough, and  Newmarket.  For  my  part,  M.  le  Conte, 
early  acquaintance  with  the  Continent  saved  me,  happily, 
from  that  inexact  idea.  I  know  that  if  you  want  to 
keep  up  with  the  movement  you  must  march  with  it  as 
it  marches  at  Vichy  to-day,  at  Baden-Baden  to-morrow, 
at  Nice,  Monte  Carlo,  Pau,  Carlsbad,  the  next  day.  So 
I  took  the  hint  and  followed  up  your  ex-Emperor  from 
Cannes  to  Algiers,  till  I  caught  him  at  last  on  the  slope 
of  Mustapha  Sup6rieur.'  The  rest  she  couldn't  hear.  It 
was  but  a  passing  snatch  as  he  strolled  by  her  chair. 
But  it  was  enough  at  least  to  impress  Lady  Beaumont 
profoundly  with  a  sense  of  Mr.  Hayward's  prodigious 
mastery  of  colloquial  French,  and  astonishing  ease  in 
framing  his  thoughts  into  words  in  all  languages  equally. 


UNDBK  SEALED  ORDERS 


il 


I 


Was  he  a  Frenchman,  then,  she  wondered,  and  waa 
that  why  his  r's  had  that  peculiar  trill  in  them  ? 

To  be  sure,  an  acute  Parisian  ear  (like  yours  and  mine, 
dear  reader)  might  have  noticed  at  once  that  as  in 
English  Mr.  Hayward  trilled  his  r'b,  so  in  French  his 
aw's,  his  t:?t's,  and  his  on'a  were  very  ill  distinguished. 
But,  then.  Lady  Beaumont  hadn't  had  otir  educational 
advantages.  To  her  dull  English  ear,  his  spoken  French 
was  exactly  a  Frenchman's. 

As  she  sat  and  pondered,  Owen  strolled  up  to  the 
group  looking  glorious  in  his  running  clothes — a  young 
Greek  god,  hot  and  flushed  from  his  victories.  Even 
on  Sacha's  placid  face  a  ruddy  spot  of  pleasure  glowed 
bright  as  her  brother  drew  near,  like  a  statue  come  to 
life;  while,  as  for  Mr.  Hayward,  he  stepped  forward 
to  meet  the  hero  of  the  day  with  such  graceful  cordi- 
ality as  a  prince  might  show  to  one  of  his  noblest 
subjects. 

'  My  dear  boy,*  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder  with  a  half- caressing  movement,  *  you 
won  that  mile  splendidly.  'Twas  a  magnificent  spurt. 
I  was  proud  of  you  as  I  looked  at  you,  Owen — very 
proud  of  you  as  I  looked  at  you.* 

Lady  Beaumont's  steely  eyes  were  turned  on  the  pair, 
watching  warily. 

'  Thank  you,  Mr.  Hayward,*  the  young  man  answered 
in  a  modest  tone,  but  with  genuine  pleasure,  as  an  affec- 
tionate boy  might  answer  his  father.  '  If  you're  pleased, 
that's  all  I  want.  But  I  hope  you  didn't  mind  my  not 
meeting  you  at  the  station  ?' 

'Mind I'  Mr.  Hayward  repeated  quickly.  <Mindl 
V/hy,  I  should  have  been  most  g'-ieved,  my  boy,  if  you'd 
missed  one  fraction  of  these  sports  on  my  account.  But 
Sacha  knew  best.  One  can  always  trust  Sacha.  She 
explained  to  me  when  we  met,  and  I  agreed  with  her 
entirely.  To  Ree  you  win  such  a  magnificent  lot  of  prizes 
as  this  is  all  I  ask  of  you.* 

•But  his  >\ork?'  Aunt  Julia  suggested,  aghast— •  his 
books,  his  reading,  Mr.  Hayward?  Don't  you  think 
these  things  tend  to  unsettle  a  young  man  for  •zamina* 
iions?* 


DIPLOMATIC  DISCIPLINB  K 

Mr.  Hayward  turned  round  and  gazed  blandly  and 
benignly  at  her. 

•  I  should  have  read  Owen's  character  very  ill  indeed,* 
he  said  with  a  curious  smile,  *  if  I  thought  anything 
could  unsettle  him  from  a  resolve  once  made.  He's  true 
as  steel,  is  Owen.  If  you  want  men  to  do  well,  first 
begin  by  trusting  them.  That's  the  freeman's  way.  The 
other  is  both  ^he  curse  and  the  Nemesis  of  despotism.' 

What  a  very  odd  man  I  Lady  Beaumont  thought  to 
herself ;  and  how  sententiously  he  spoke  1  What  a  bore, 
too,  if  you  saw  much  of  himl  For  women  of  Lady 
Beaumont's  type  invariably  think  anybody  a  dreadful 
bore  who  makes  a  generalized  remark,  or  who  talks 
about  anything  else  in  heaven  or  earth  but  the  gossip  of 
(ht  narrow  little  set  they  mix  in. 


OHAPTEB  IV. 


DIPLOMATIC  DISOIPLINB. 

An  hour  or  two  later  they  were  taking  tea  together  in 
Sacha'a  sacred  studio,  at  the  round  table  made  out  of  the 
Gairene  wood- work  stand,  surmounted  by  the  old  Moorish 
chased  brass  tray  that  Mr.  Hayward  had  brought  her  on 
one  of  his  voyages  to  Tunis. 

The  treasures  of  the  household,  indeed,  had  been  ran- 
sacked to  do  honour  to  Mr.  Hayward.  Aunt  Julia  had 
brought  out  the  best  silver  teapot  with  the  Cazalet  arms 
on  it,  and  the  George  III.  apostle  spoons  that  belonged 
to  her  grandmother  fifty  years  ago  in  Devonshire.  Cook 
had  produced  some  of  her  famous  brown  rolls,  and  had 
surpassed  her  well-known  skill  in  the  home-made  rusks 
and  buttered  Canadian  tea-cake.  Martha's  little  French 
eap  was  crimped  and  starched  with  unwonted  oare,  and 
her  apron  with  the  white  lace  was  even  more  spotless 
than  usual.  Sacha  herself  had  put  the  very  daintiest  of 
her  sketches  on  the  easel  by  the  square  bay-window,  and 
festooned  fresh  sprays  of  trailing  clematis  and  long  stems 
of  wild  bryony  from  the  Venetian  bowl  in  hammered 


M  fTNDBR  SEAI^BD  ORDERS 

copper  that  hung  by  a  wrought-iron  chain  from  a  staple 
in  the  corner.  The  studio,  in  short,  was  as  picturesque 
as  Sacha  knew  how  to  make  it;  for  Mr.  Hayward's 
visits  were  few  and  far  between,  and  all  the  household 
made  the  more  of  them  for  the  rarity  of  their  ocour- 
rence. 

Yet  a  certain  visible  constraint  brooded  over  the  whole 
party  none  the  less  while  they  drank  their  tea  out  of 
Sacha's  Satsuma  cups;  for  it  was  an  understood  thing 
that  Mr.  Hayward  never  came  down  to  Moor  Hill  except 
for  some  good  and  sufficient  reason ;  and  what  that  reason 
might  be,  nobody  liked  to  ask  him,  though,  till  he  chose 
to  disclose  it  himself,  they  sat  on  tenterhooks  of  painful 
expectation. 

At  last,  however,  Mr.  Hayward  laid  down  hie  cup,  and 
ruined  for  a  moment  to  Owen. 

•  And  now,  my  boy,'  he  said  quietly,  as  though  every- 
body knew  beforehand  the  plan  he  was  going  to  propose, 
'  will  you  be  ready  to  set  out  with  me  to-morrow  morn- 
ing?' 

'  Certainly,'  Owen  answered  at  once,  with  a  great  air 
of  alacrity.  '  To-night,  if  you  like.  I  can  go  and  pack 
my  portmanteau  this  minute,  if  necessary,  or  start  with- 
out it.' 

Mr.  Hayward  smiled  approval. 

'  That's  right,'  he  said,  nodding  assent.  *  Quite  right, 
as  far  as  it  goes,  and  shows  promptitude  in  some  ways. 
I'd  half  a  mind  to  telegraph  to  you  yesterday  to  come  up 
then  and  there,  just  to  test  your  obedience.  But  I'm 
glad  now  I  didn't.  It  would  have  grieved  me  to  have 
done  you  out  of  this  morning's  triumphs.  This  is  all  so 
good  for  you.' 

•  If  you  had,'  Owen  said  simply,  '  I'd  have  come  straight 
up,  of  course,  though  it  would  have  been  a  wrench,  I  don't 
deny.  But  it's  wrenches,  after  all,  that  are  the  true  test 
of  discipline.' 

Mr.  Hayward  smiled  once  more. 

•  Quite  so,'  he  answered,  with  evident  pleasure.  *  You're 
a  good  boy,  Owen — a  boy  after  my  own  heart.  And  in 
most  things  I  approve  of  you.  But  remember,  paint  d% 
Mils.    Zeal  often  spoils  everything.    That  was  unneoei- 


DIPIX>MATIC  DISCIPUNB 


•S 


Bary  that  yoa  said  just  now,  "to-night,  if  you  like"; 
nobody  asked  you  to  go  to-night.  I  said,  to-morrow 
morning.  A  well-trained  subordinate  answers,  "Ger* 
tainly;  at  what  hour?"  but  never  suggests  to-night. 
That's  no  pajrt  of  his  province.'  He  paused  for  a  moment 
and  gazed  hard  with  searching  eyes  at  Sacha.  '  These 
things  are  important,'  he  added,  musing,  '  as  disciplinary 
preparation  for  the  diplomatic  service.' 

'  I'll  remember  it,  Mr.  Hayward,'  Owen  answered  sub- 
missively. 

'  For  the  diplomatic  service,'  Mr.  Hayward  went  on,  *  a 
man  needs  for  the  most  part  not  zeal,  but  discretion. 
Zealous  subordinates  you  can  find  any  day  in  the  streets 
by  the  dozen ;  a  discreet  one  you  may  search  for  over 
two-thirds  of  Europe.  Obedience  you've  learnt  already, 
my  boy ;  discretion  you've  got  to  learn  now.  No  offering 
to  go  and  pack  your  portmanteau  at  once — it  isn't 
demanded  of  you — still  less,  protestations  of  willingness 
to  start  without  ona' 

He  spoke  austerely,  but  kindly,  with  a  tender,  fatherly 
ring  in  his  voice,  like  one  who  would  correct  a  fault  with- 
out giving  needless  pain  to  the  pupil. 

'  I  see,  Owen  answered,  abashed.  *  I  was  wrong,  of 
course.  I  ought  to  have  gone  without  a  portmanteau  at 
once,  if  you  summoned  me ;  but  not  nave  effusively 
offered  to  go  without  one  when  I  wasn't  called  upon  to 
do  so.' 

Mr.  Hayward's  eyes  sparkled  with  suppressed  pride 
and  pleasure.  A  very  apt  pupil  this,  quick  to  accept 
reproof  where  he  saw  it  was  deserved,  and  to  mend  his 
ways  accordingly.  He  laid  that  friendly  hand  upon  the 
young  man's  shoulder  again. 

'  Quite  right,  Owen,'  he  said.  *  Tou'U  make  a  diplomat 
yett  .  .  .  We  shall  see  him  ambassador  at  Constan- 
tinople before  we  die.  Miss  Gazalet.  .  .  .  But  you  haven't 
asked  yet  where  you're  to  go  to,  my  boy.  Don't  y»a 
want  to  know  about  it.' 

Owen  hesitated  a  moment. 

'  I  thought  discretion  dictated  that  I  ■hould  wait  till  I 
was  told,' he  answered,  after  a  long  pause)  daring  whioh 
Baoha'i  eyei  wero  fixed  firmly  upon  him. 


fl4  UNDER  SBALBD  ORDB&8 

The  Bond  Street  photographer  smiled  that  itranga 
emile  of  success  aud  satisfaction  once  more. 

<  Bight  again,  my  boy,'  he  said,  well  pleased.  '  Yoa 
answer  as  you  ought  to  do.  Then  you  shall  know  your 
destination  to-morrow  evening.' 

Aunt  Julia  gave  a  little  start  of  surprise  and  regret. 

'But  aren't  we  to  know  where  he's  going,  Mr. 
Hay  ward?'  she  cried.  'Aren't  we  to  know  where  we 
can  write  to  him  ?' 

Mr.  Hayward  turned  round  upon  her  with  a  coldly  con* 
temptuous  look  in  his  keen  brown  eyes.  His  manner 
towards  Aunt  Julia  was  always  markedly  different  from 
his  manner  to  Owen  and  Sacha.  Its  stately  courtesy 
never  quite  succeeded  in  concealing  the  undercurrent  of 
contempt  for  the  district  visitor  within  her. 

'  It  was  in  our  bargain,'  he  said,  '  Miss  Cazalet — which 
Owen,  at  least,  has  always  loyally  kept — that  I  might 
lake  him  for  a  month  at  a  time,  twice  a  year,  when 
I  chose,  to  live  with  me,  or  travel  with  me  wherever  I 
liked,  in  order  to  retain  such  a  hold  as  I  desired  both 
over  hit  education  and  over  his  character  and  affections. 
Xt  was  never  specified  that  I  should  tell  you  beforehand 
when  or  where  it  suited  me  he  should  pass  those  two 
months  with  me.  It  was  only  arranged  that  at  the  end 
of  each  such  holiday  I  should  restore  him  once  more  to 
your  own  safe  keeping.  Two  months  out  of  twelve  is 
eurely  not  excessive  for  me  to  ask  for  myself,  espeoiallv 
as  Owen  is  happiest  when  he's  away  on  his  trips  with 
me.' 

The  tears  came  up  into  Aunt  Julia's  eyes.  Long  since 
6he  had  repented  of  that  most  doubtful  bargaia  She 
even  wondered  at  times  whether  Mr.  Hayward  was  some 
modern  embodiment  of  Mephistopheles,  ftnd  whether  she 
nad  sold  Owen's  soul  to  him,  as  Esau  sold  his  birthright 
for  a  mess  of  pottage.  It  frightened  her  when  she  heard 
dim  talk  so  much  of  running  about  Europe  in  traint  de 
iuxe.  It  reminded  her  always  of  the  Book  of  Job,  and 
of  the  high  personage  who  presented  himself  at  the  court 
of  heaven  '  from  goin^  to  and  fro  in  the  earth,  and  from 
walking  up  and  down  m  it.' 

'  I  should  certainly  have  liked  to  know  when  Owen 


DIPLOMATIC  DISCIPWNB 


95 


was  likely  to  be/  Aunt  Julia  murmured,  sfcrugglinG;  har*! 
with  her  voice  and  her  tears.     •  It's  a  pull  to  give  him  up 
without  even  knowing  where  he's  gone  to.' 
Owen  turned  to  her  tenderly. 

*  Well,  but,  auntie,'  he  said  in  his  manly  voice,  always 
full  of  English  cheeriness,  '  you  know  I  won't  get  into 
any  harm  with  Mr.  Hayward,  and  for  myself,  I  really 
like  best  the  element  of  adventure  and  surprise — the 
never  knowing  till  I  get  there  where  it  is  I'm  going  to.' 

The  love  of  adventure  and  surprise,  however,  is  poorly 
developed  in  the  British  old  maid  or  in  the  British 
matron.  But  Mr.  Hayward  had  carried  his  point,  and 
eould  afford  to  relent  now. 

'  Go  upstairs,  Owen,'  he  said,  '  and  put  your  things 
together  at  once.  I'm  not  sure,  after  all,  I  won't  start 
off  this  evening.' 

*  And  we've  got  dinner  for  you,  and  everything  f  Aunt 
Julia  exclaimed  appealingly. 

She'd  made  a  cream  pudding.  Her  housewifely  heart 
was  stirred  to  its  depth  by  this  bitter  disappointment. 

But  Owen  ran  upstairs  with  cheerful  promptitude.  It 
was  clear  Mr.  Hayward  had  a  very  firm  hold  over  him — 
^  hold  gained  not  so  much  by  command  as  by  affection. 
As  soon  as  he  was  gone  their  visitor  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

'  Miss  Cazalet,'  he  said  in  that  clear  and  very  musical 
voice  of  his,  *  I've  never  been  unreasonable.  I  made  % 
bargain  with  you  and  Owen  for  Owen's  clear  advantage, 
but  I've  never  abused  it.  While  he  was  at  school  I  took 
care  not  to  break  in  upon  his  terms ;  I  even  allowed  his 
schooling  to  take  precedence  of  his  education  ;  I  only 
claimed  him  in  the  holidays,  and  then  he  learned  more 
from  me  in  those  two  short  months  than  in  the  other  ten 
from  his  books  and  his  masters.  Since  he  left  school 
I've  been  more  irregular,  but  always  for  a  good  reason. 
I've  a  good  reasor  now,  though  I  don't  choose  to  com- 
municate it.  However,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  privately 
where  I'm  going,  if  you  and  Alexandra — I  beg  your 

garden,  my  child,  Sacha  I  mean — won't  mention  it  to 
iwen  before  we  start.  .  .  .  I'm  contemplating  a  month'i 
iov  in  the  moontainB  of  Moroooo.' 


I 


:«, 


:.,Ba* 


M 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


i 


I 


Eli 


'I     ,1 


Annt  Julia  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief.  She  knew 
nothing  about  Morocco,  to  be  sure,  except  the  bare 
nnme ;  and  she  had  a  vague  idea  that  the  majority  of  its 
inhabitants  were  engaged  in  the  book-binding  trade  and 
the  exportation  of  leather ;  but  it  was  a  comfort  io  her, 
all  the  same,  to  know  exactly  on  the  map  where  Owen 
was  going  to. 

*  Morocco/  she  reflected,  much  consoled.  '  Morocco. 
Morocco.  And  shall  we  be  able  to  write  to  him  while 
he's  gone  ?    Will  you  give  us  your  address  there  ?' 

'There  will  be  no  address,'  Mr.  Hayward  answered 
curtly.    '  No  addresses  of  any  sort.' 

'  Not  even  poste  restante  P    Aunt  Julia  interposed. 

Mr.  Hayward  smiled  a  broad  smile. 

'  Not  even  poste  restante,*  he  replied,  unbending  at  the 
bare  idea.  '  We  shall  be  up  in  the  mountains  all  the 
time,  among  pathless  wilds,  and  in  small  native  villages. 
Posts  are  unknown,  and  inns  of  any  sort  unhoard  of.  I 
want  ^o  do  some  photography  of  the  untouched  Moorish 
world,  so  I  shall  make  at  once  for  the  remotest  interior.' 

'  Owen  will  like  that  I'  Sacha  put  in,  well  pleased. 
'  It'll  exactly  suit  him.  There'll  be  mountain  climbing, 
of  course,  and,  as  he  says,  an  element  of  excitement  and 
adventure.' 

•Precisely,*  Mr.  Hayward  answered;  'just  why  I'm 
taking  him  there.  I  want  to  train  his  body  and  mind  to 
familiarity  with  danger.  Your  father  was  a  brave  man, 
Sacha.    I  want  Owen  to  be  like  him.' 

'  Owen  is,'  Sacha  said  proudly.  '  As  brave  as  they're 
made.  He  takes  after  his  father  in  that.  Or  else  your 
training's  been  successful' 

'  Well,  it's  a  comfort  to  think,  anyhow,  that  if  anything 
goes  wrong  in  Morocco  while  he's  there,'  Aunt  Julia  said 
with  a  sigh, '  we  shall  know  at  least  that  dear  Owen's  in 
the  midst  of  it.'  Which  is  a  feminine  form  of  delight, 
but  a  very  common  onoo 


1^ 


•CBBRCHBZ  LA  FBMMB* 


CHAPTER  V. 

*0HBB0HB2  LA  FBMIO!.' 

GuABDiAN  and  ward  stood  on  the  deck  of  a  Canard  Medi- 
terranean liner  before  Owen  had  an  inkling  of  their  real 
destination.  This  uncertainty,  indeed,  exactly  suited  his 
adventurous  athlete  miud.  He  liked  to  set  out  not 
knowing  whither  he  was  bound,  and  to  wake  up  some 
fine  morning  in  a  new  world  of  wonders.  Overflowing 
with  life  and  youth  and  health  and  spirits,  he  found  in 
such  a  tourist  surprise  party  an  irresistible  attraction. 
He  was  wafted  to  his  Bagdad  as  on  some  enchanted 
carpet.  It  would  have  spoilt  half  the  fun  for  Llm  if  he 
knew  beforehand  where  he  was  going,  or  why;  and, 
besides,  with  Mr.  Hayward  he  was  always  happy.  He 
preferred  this  sailing  under  sealed  orders. 

Oh,  the  change  to  him,  since  boyhood  upwards,  from 
Aunt  Julia's  petticoat  regime  and  perpetual  old-maidish 
restraint  at  the  Bed  Cottage  to  the  freedom  and  breezi- 
ness  of  Mr.  Hayward's  holiday  I  For  Mr.  Hayward  had 
designed  it  so,  and  had  succeeded  admirably.  A  boy 
hates  to  live  under  a  woman's  restrictions,  and  loves  to 
have  a  man  in  authority  over  him.  Mr.  Hayward  took 
advantage  of  that  natural  instinct  of  boy  psychology  to 
bind  Owen  to  himself  by  strong  ties  of  affection  and  grati- 
tude. With  Aunt  Julia  education  was  one  long  c^  3- 
gorioal  '  Don't ' ;  her  sole  part  of  speech  was  the  impera- 
tive negative.  Don't  try  to  climb  trees ;  don't  speak  in 
that  voice ;  don't  play  with  those  rude  boys  ;  don't  wear 
out  your  shoes,  or  the  knees  of  your  knickerbockers. 
With  Mr  Hayward,  on  the  contrary,  education  consisted 
in  a  constant  endeavour  to  find  out  and  encourage 
every  native  instinct :  If  that  pleases  you,  my  boy,  why, 
do  it  by  all  means ;  if  that  irks  you,  never  mind,  you  can 
get  on  in  the  end  very  well  without  it.  From  Mr.  Hay- 
ward, cr  with  Mr.  Hayward,  Owen  had  learnt  French  at 
odd  times  without  being  conscious  of  learning  it ;  he  had 
Uamt  history  and  politics,  and  knowledge  of  common 
ihiBgi ;  optioB  and  photography,  and  all  (he  allied  arfei 


m 


m 


m 


1 


I 

J  ■ 

I, 


if     1 


r 


t'i 


flS  UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 

and  sciences ;  geography  in  action ;  a  mass  of  general  in- 
forriiation  taken  in  at  the  pores,  and  all  the  more  valu. 
able  because  acquired  con  aiuire.  That  was  what  Mr. 
Hayward  meant  by  *  not  allowing  his  schooling  to  inter- 
fere with  his  education.'  The  boy  had  learnt  most  and 
learned  best  in  his  holidays. 

Obedience,  if  you  will ;  yes,  Mr.  Hayward  desired  the 
promptest  obedience.  But  it  was  the  willing  obedience 
the  disciple  renders  oi  his  own  accord  to  the  master  he 
adores,  not  the  slavish  obedience  a  broken  spirit  tenders 
to  a  despotic  martinet.  Liberty  first,  order  afterwards. 
Mr.  Hayward  would  rather  ten  thousand  times  see  Owen 
rebel  than  see  him  give  in  without  a  struggle  to  unreason- 
able authority.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Owen  often  rebelled 
against  Aunt  Julia's  strict  ruleri ;  and  when  he  did  so  Mr. 
Hayward  upheld  him  in  it  stoatly. 

On  this  particular  journey ,  even  after  they  got  out- 
side the  bar  of  the  Mersev,  Owen  had  still  no  idea 
whither  on  earth  they  were  bound,  save  that  their  desti- 
nation was  somewhere  in  the  Mediterranean.  He  learned 
the  exact  place  by  accident.  A  fellow-passenger,  leaning 
over  the  ta£&:ail,  asked  Mr.  Hayward  carelessly,  *  Alex- 
andria ?' 

*  No,  Tangier,'  the  mysterious  man  answered.  '  My 
friend  and  I  are  going  on  a  tour  in  the  Morocco  moun- 
tains. I  want  to  do  a  little  photography  there — take  un- 
hackneyed Islam.' 

Owen's  heart  leapt  up  at  the  sound ;  but  he  gave  no 
overt  token.  Mountaineering  in  Morocco  I  How  delight- 
ful I  How  romantic !  Arabs,  Atlas,  Adventure  I  The 
very  thing  to  suit  him. 

'  Dangerous  work,'  the  fellow-passenger  observed,  with 
a  languid  yawn,  '  sketching  and  photographing.  Shock 
these  fellows'  religious  prejudices  ;.  and  Jedburg  justice  is 
the  rule.     "  Off  with  his  head,"  says  the  Cadi.' 

*  So  I  hear,'  Mr.  Hayward  answered  calmly.  *  They 
tell  me  you  mustn't  try  to  take  a  snap  at  a  mosque,  in 
particular,  unless  you  can  do  it  unobserved.  If  the 
natives  catch  you  at  it,  they're  pretty  sure  to  resent  the 
insult  to  their  religion,  and  cut  your  throat  as  a  work  of 
vnobcruBiTe  piety.' 


•CHBRCHEZ  LA  PBMMB 


'  What  larks  1'  Owen  thought  to  himseU.  *  This  is  just 
what  I  love.  A  spice  of  danger  thrown  in  I  And  I've 
iJways  heard  the  Morocco  people  are  fanatioal  Moham- 
medans.' 

And,  indeed,  he  enjoyed  his  first  week  or  two  on 
African  soil  immensely.  From  the  moment  he  set  foot 
in  Tangier — that  tangled  Tangier — he  found  himself  at 
once  in  a  fairyland  of  marvels.  More  eastern  than  the 
east,  Morocco  still  remains  free  from  the  vulgarizing  ad- 
mixture of  a  foreign  element  which  spoils  Algiers  and 
Cairo  and  Constantinople.  But  Owen  had  never  touched 
on  Islam  at  all  before;  and  this  sudden  dip  into  pure  Orient 
at  one  plunge  was  to  him  a  unique  and  glorious  experi- 
ence. He  was  sorry  to  tear  himself  away  from  the  pic- 
turesque narrow  alleys  and  turbaned  Moors  of  Tangier, 
even  for  the  promised  delights  of  the  wild  interior.  But 
Mr.  Hayward's  arrangements  for  his  tour  in  the  Atlas 
were  soon  completed ;  the  protection  of  the  Shereefian 
umbrella  was  granted  in  due  form,  and  they  set  out,  after 
three  days,  for  the  mountains  of  the  black  country. 

Owen  was  not  at  all  surprised  to  find  as  they  journeyed 
inland,  that  Mr.  Hayward  spoke  Arabic  fluently.  On  the 
contrary,  it  would  have  astonished  him  much  more  if  his 
guardian  had  proved  ignorant  of  any  known  language, 
Oriental  or  Western.  Mr.  Hayward  chatted  easily  with 
their  Moorish  escort,  a  soldier  of  the  Sultan's,  as  they 
marched  along  single  file,  each  mounted  on  a  good 
native  saddle-horse,  through  the  narrow  bridle-paths 
which  constituted  the  sole  roads  in  Morocco. 

The  British  (jonsul  at  Tangier  had  procured  them  the 
services  of  an  official  escort,  and  had  further  supplied 
them  with  a  firman  from  his  Shereefian  Majesty,  enjoin- 
ing on  all  and  sundry  to  show  them  on  their  way  every 
respect  and  kindness.  Travelling  was  safe  in  the  interior 
just  now,  the  escort  assured  them ;  for,  Allah  be  praised  t 
the  Sultan's  health  was  excellent.  When  the  Sultan  was 
ill,  of  course  it  was  very  different ;  things  got  unsettled 
up  country  then,  and  it  was  dangerous  for  foreigners  to 
venture  too  far  from  the  coast  and  their  consuls.  In 
Bamadan,  too,  during  the  month  of  fasting,  European! 
found  it  risky  to  travel  about  freely.    The  faithful  of  the 


m 


W 

m 


1~ 


t 


'        : 


l!>i 


6i       ' 


1^  1 


y 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


town  got  crusty  with  their  enforced  abstinence,  and  their 
religious  feelings  were  deeply  stirred  at  that  time;  they 
let  Siem  lootie,  the  escort  remarked,  with  engaging  frank- 
ness, on  the  passing  infidels.  Up  country,  you  see,  the 
people  are  so  little  accustomed  to  foreign  effendis.  At 
Tangier  we  are  more  civilized;  we  have  learned  to  make 
trade  with  them. 

It  had  been  hot  at  Tangier,  for  it  was  full  summer  in 
England;  but  up  on  the  high  mountains  of  the  interior 
they  found  the  season  cool,  with  a  spring-like  freshness. 
Owen  never  enjoyed  anything  better  than  that  free,  wild 
life,  climbing  crags  through  the  long  day,  camping  out 
in  quaint  Berber  huts  through  the  short  nights,  with 
none  but  natives  and  their  cattle  for  society.  And  the 
danger  gave  it  zest,  for,  in  spite  of  the  Sultan's  firman, 
they  could  only  photograph  by  stealth  or  under  constant 
peril  of  angry  and  hostile  expostulation. 

About  their  fifth  evening  out  from  Tangier,  an  hour 
before  sunset,  as  they  were  sitting  in  the  court}' ard  of  a 
rude  native  inn  at  a  place  called  Ain-Essa,  where  they  pro- 
posed to  pass  the  night,  as  guests  of  the  village,  they  were 
surprised  by  the  approach  of  a  pair  of  travellers  in  the  cos- 
tume of  the  country.  One  was  a  handsome  young  man  in 
an  embroidered  Moorish  jacket  and  loose  white  trousers, 
wearing  a  fez  on  his  head,  around  which  protruded  great 
fluffy  masses  of  luxuriant  chestnut  hair,  reminding  one 
somewhat  of  the  cinque-cento  Florentines.  Though  not 
more  than  the  middle  height,  the  stranger  yet  looked  tall 
an^  well  made,  and  Owen  remarked  at  once  with  a  profes- 
sional eye  that  he  had  in  him  the  makings  of  a  very  toler- 
able athlete.  The  other,  who  seemed  his  servant,  was  an 
older,  heavily-bearded  man,  clad  in  the  common  green  coat 
and  dirty  white  turban  of  the  Moorish  groom  or  stable-boy. 

The  younger  traveller  of  the  two  jumped  from  his 
horse  very  lightly.  He  rode  well  and  sprang  with  ease, 
like  an  accomplished  gymnast.  As  he  flung  his  reins  to 
his  servant,  he  said,  in  decent  French : 

*Tiens,  take  my  horse,  Ali;  I'll  go  into  the  auberge, 
and  see  if  they  can  give  us  accommodation  this  evening. ' 

The  sound  of  a  European  tongue  in  that  remote  mouu* 


•CHBKCHSZ  LA  FBMMB' 


tain  Tillage  took  Mr.  Hayward  aback.  He  rose  from  the 
divan  where  he  sat,  and,  lifting  his  hat  to  the  young  man, 
crossed  over  to  the  servant,  while  the  new-comer,  with 
easy  assurance,  strolled  into  the  front-room  of  the  native 
inn. 

'  Monsieur  est  Fran9aiB  ?'  he  asked  the  man  who  had 
been  addressed  as  Ali. 

The  Arab  shook  his  head. 

'  Non,  Anglaise,'  he  answered  curtly. 

'  Anglais  ?'  Mr.  Hayward  corrected,  thinking  All's  com- 
mand of  French  didn't  extend  as  far  as  genders,  and  that 
he  had  substituted  the  feminine  for  the  masculine  in 
error. 

But  Ali  was  not  to  be  shaken  so  lightly  from  his  first 
true  report. 

'  Non,  non,'  he  repeated ;  '  Anglaise,  vous  dis-je ; 
Anglaise,  Anglaise,  Anglaise.  It's  a  woman,  not  a  man. 
It  pleases  her  to  ride  about  tbTOUgh  the  interior  that  way.' 

Owen  looked  up  quite  crestfallen. 

'  Tou  don't  mean  to  say  she  travels  alone,  without  an 
escort,  with  nobody  to  take  care  of  her  except  you  ?'  he 
asked  the  man  in  French. 

The  Algerian — for  he  was  one — nodded  a  quiet  assent. 

'  'Tis  mademoiselle's  fancy,'  he  said.  <  She  likes  to  go 
her  own  way.  And  she  goes  it,  I  can  tell  you.  Nobody 
would  ever  get  mademoiselle  to  do  anything  she  didn't 
want  to.' 

Owen  gazed  appealingly  at  his  guardian. 

'  This  is  too  bad,  Mr.  Hayward  1'  he  cried.  '  We've  a 
soldier  to  protect  us.  And  a  girl  goes  alone.  We  must 
dismiss  our  escort.  It's  a  shame  for  us  to  be  beaten  hke 
that  by  a  woman.' 

'  You're  quite  right,'  Mr.  Hayward  answered.  '  If  she 
can  go  alone,  why,  so  can  we.  I'll  dismiss  our  man  to- 
morrow, and  I'm  glad  you  took  it  so.' 

In  a  few  minutes  more  the  stranger  strolled  out 
casually  into  the  courtyard  again.  She  had  a  £rank,  free 
face,  yet  not  really  masculine  when  one  came  to  look  into 
it,  and  the  great  crop  of  loose,  chestnut  hair,  blowing 
about  it  in  the  breeze,  gave  it  a  very  marked  air  of  loose 
grace  and  oarelessness. 


I>J 


I 

'I 

m 
41 

4 


F 


31   <  i 


U' 


ji  UNDER  SKATyBD  ORDERS 

'I  beg  yonr  pardon/  she  said  in  pure  English,  her 
Toice  betraying  at  once  the  open  secret  of  her  sex,  '  but  T 
hear  from  the  man  who  keeps  this  place  you've  got  hia 
only  two  rooms.  I'm  sorry  to  interfere  with  you,  but 
would  you  mind  occupying  one  together,  just  this  even- 
ing, to  let  me  have  the  other.  It's  a  long  pull  at  thia 
hour  of  night  to  Taourist,  the  next  station.' 

She  spoke  as  calmly  and  familiarly  as  if  she  were  in 
an  Enghsh  hotel,  and  as  if  a  lady  got  up  in  male  Arab 
costume  were  everywhere  a  common  object  of  the 
country.  Mr.  Hayward  glanced  at  her  and  smiled,  rais- 
ing his  hat  the  while  with  his  usual  stately  courtesy. 

'  With  pleasure,'  he  said,  motioning  her  to  a  seat  on 
the  divan  by  the  door.  '  If  there's  anything  at  all  we  can 
do  for  you  we  shall  be  only  too  happy.  You're  English, 
of  course,  as  I  gather  from  your  accent.' 

The  problematical  young  person  took  a  seat  on  the 
divan  in  the  shade,  and  removed  her  fez  for  coolness,  dis- 

E laying  as  she  did  so  all  the  wealth  of  chestnut  hair  that 
ad  before  been  but  vaguely  suspected  by  the  fringe  that 
escaped  from  it. 

'  More  English  than  anything  else,  I  suppose,'  she  said 
brightly,  leaning  back  as  she  spoke  and  loosening  her 
native  sUppers ;  '  though  I  haven't  a  drop  of  English 
blood  in  my  body,  if  it  comes  to  that.  But  I'm  a  British 
subject,  any  way ;  and  my  native  tongue's  English.  I'm 
a  little  bit  of  everything,  I  believe — except  Turk,  thank 
heaven  1  but  my  name's  mostly  Greek  ;  it's  long  Draco- 
poll.' 

'  A  very  pretty  name,  too,'  Owen  put  in,  half-abashed. 

*  My  friend's  is  Hayward,  and  mine's  Owen  Cazalet.' 

•  Why,  then,  you  must  be  Sacha's  brother  I'  Miss  Draco- 
poli  cried,  enchanted.  '  You  are  ?  How  delightful  1 
Sacha  and  I  used  to  go  to  the  School  of  Art  together. 
Yon  never  heard  her  speak  of  me,  did  you  —  lonS 
Draoopoli  ?' 

'  No,  never,*  Owen  answered.  •  But  she  knows  so 
many  girls  in  London,  of  course,'  he  added  apologetically. 

*  You  don't  mean  to  say  you're  travelling  alone  in 
Morocco  like  this  ?  You've  come  all  the  way  from 
TlUigie'  with  nobody  but  this  servant  ?' 


•CHERCHEZ  I^  FEMME* 


as 


'Notfiom  Tangier,*  Miss  lone  answered,  enjo3dng  his 
amazement  immensely  ;  '  much  further  than  that.  All 
the  way  from  Oran,  in  French  Algeria.  Yes,  I've  ridden 
across  the  mountains  on  my  own  hired  horse,  just  with 
Ali  to  take  care  of  me.  Tiie  French  people  at  Oran 
talked  a  pack  of  nonsense  about  its  being  impossible  for 
anybody  to  get  along  beyond  the  frontier  without  an 
escort.  "  Very  well,  then,"  said  I  to  the  sous-prefet  or 
somebody — a  fat.  smiling  old  gentleman  with  a  red 
ribbon  in  his  buiton-hole  and  a  perfect  genius  for 
shrugging  his  shoulders  and  saying,  "  Mais,  non, 
mademoiselle,  impossible"  —  "I  never  care  to  attempt 
anything  myself  unless  it's  impossible.  What's  possible's 
easy.  What's  im possible's  amusing."  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders  again  and  said,  "Another  of  these  mad  English. 
Thank  heaven,  if  she's  killed  it'll  be  beyond  the  frontier." 
But  he  let  me  go,  all  the  same.' 

And  lone  smiled,  triumphant  at  the  memory  of  the 
encounter. 

'  And  you've  had  no  difficulties  by  the  way  ?'  Mr.  Hay- 
ward  asked,  astonished. 

lone  threw  her  head  back  and  showed  a  very  pretty 
neck.  Her  face  was  daintily  rounded,  and  her  teeth, 
when  she  smiled,  were  two  rows  of  pure  ivory. 

*  Difliculties  ?'  she  echoed.  '  Difficulties?  Dear  me, 
yes ;  thank  goodness  I've  had  nothing  but  difficulties. 
Why,  what  else  do  you  expect?  Where'd  be  the  fun  of 
coming  so  far  and  facing  so  much  discomfort,  I  should 
Uke  to  know,  if  it  were  all  plain  sailing,  like  a  canter 
across  the  Brighton  downs  ?  It  was  the  difficulties  that 
drew  me,  and  I've  not  been  disappointed.' 

Owen  stared  hard  at  her  and  listened  with  profound 
interest  and  admiration.  Mr.  Hay  ward,  gazing  alarmed, 
noted  the  sparkle  in  his  eye.  This  was  indeed  a  girl 
after  Owen's  own  heart,  he  felt  sure.  So  he  registered  a 
solemn  resolution  in  his  own  mind  to  find  out  that  night 
which  way  Miss  Dracopoli  was  going  on  the  morrow,  and 
to  start  himself  on  the  opposite  one.  For  there's  nothing 
more  likely  to  turn  a  man  froi  n  any  fixed  resolve  in  life 
than  that  first  stumbling-blook  of  our  race,  from  Adam 


I 


■  *  J 

w 


:il 


II  UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 

downward— a  woman.  And  Mr.  Hayward  had  far  othez 
designs  in  his  head  for  Owen  Gazalet  than  to  let  him  fall 
a  tiotim  betimes  to  any  lond  Dracopoli. 


1i    m 


•i         1; 
Flj         lilj       I 


CHAPTER  Yt 

A  OBITIOAL  BTBNWO* 

Thbt  sat  there  some  time  and  talked,  the  pretty  stranger 
in  the  Moorish  costume  detailing  to  them  meanwhile  in 
farther  outline  her  chief  adventures  by  the  way — how 
she'd  been  refused  at  every  native  hut  in  the  village  here, 
and  made  to  sleep  in  the  open  air,  under  the  fig-trees, 
tiiere,  and  turned  away  altogether  from  whole  tribal 
lands  elsewhere.  It  was  a  curious,  eventful  tale,  and 
once  or  twice  it  grew  exciting ;  but  Miss  lond  herself, 
overflowing  with  youthful  spirits,  told  it  all,  from  the 
humorous  side,  as  a  capital  joke,  and  now  and  again 
made  them  laugh  heartily  by  the  quaint  drollness  of  her 
eommenta 

At  the  end  of  it  all  she  rose,  quite  unabashed  and 
imtroubled  by  her  wide  Turkish  trousers,  and,  with  an 
airy  wave  of  the  hand  observed : 

*  I  must  go  inside  now,  and  see  what  our  landlord  can 
do  for  me  in  the  way  of  supper.  I'm  hot  and  dusty  with 
my  ride.  I  must  have  a  good  wash.  There's  nothing 
on  earth  so  delicious,  after  all,  when  you've  got  beyond 
the  Southern  limit  of  tubs,  as  a  big  bowl  of  cold  water  at 
the  end  of  a  long  day's  journey.' 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  Mr.  Hayward  looked  at  Owen. 
•WeU?  he  said  slowly. 

*  Well  ?'  Owen  answered,  perusing  his  boots. 

*What  do  you  think  of  her?'  Mr.  Hayward  asked, 
trembling. 

*  She's  certainly  pretty,'  Owen  admitted,  hot  and  red. 
And  neither  said  a  word  more.     But  Mr.  Hayward 

felt  an  unwonted  thrill  of  premonitory  discomfiture. 

Half  an  hour  later,  lond  emerged  again.  She  had 
Iftken  off  her  embroidered  jacket  meanwhilii  Mid  now 


A  CRITICAI,  EVENING 


38 


displayed  underneath  it  a  sort  of  loosa  white  shirt,  of 
some  soft  silky  material,  which  gave  her  a  more  feminine 
air,  and  showed  olBf  to  greater  advantage  tlat  full,  smooth, 
snowy  neck  of  hers.  Her  short  but  flowing  hair  rippled 
gracefully  round  her  temples.  She  came  out  to  them, 
trilling  to  herself  a  few  bars  of  a  joyous  French  song, 
*  C'est  ca-tarra-larra.' 

'  Weil,  this  is  better,'  she  cried,  looking  roond  at  the 
pink  glow  of  the  Southern  sunset  on  the  bare  white- 
washed walls,  and  shaking  her  locks  free  from  her  fore- 
head, on  the  faint  mountain  breeze.  '  I'm  cool  again 
now.  They'll  give  us  something  to  eat  out  here  before 
long,  I  suppose.  Better  here  than  in  that  stu%  little 
living-room  inside.  I'm  not  particular  as  to  furniture,  or 
food  either,  thank  goodness  1  but  fresh  air  seems  to  oome 
rather  expensive  in  Morocco.' 

She  was  like  fresh  air  herself,  Owen  felt  instinctively. 
Something  so  open  and  breezy  about  her  face,  her  voice, 
her  walk,  her  manner.  The  ideal  of  young  Hellas  oome  to 
life  again  by  a  miracle  in  our  workaday,  modern,  industrial 
world.  She  looked  as  if  no  taint  of  this  sordid  civiliza- 
tion of  ours  had  ever  stained  or  sullied  her  Greek  Naiad 
nature. 

'  I've  asked  them  to  serve  us  what  they  ccin  in  the  open 
oourt,'  Mr.  Hayward  said  dubiously.  '  You're  used  to 
tbeir  fare  by  this  time,  no  doubt,  so  I  won't  apologize 
for  it.' 

'  I  should  think  so  I'  the  girl  answered,  pulling  her 
shiru  loose  as  she  spoke,  with  another  sunny  smile. 
'  Very  good  fare,  too,  in  its  way,  though  not  luxurious ; 
dried  figs  and  milk,  and  olive-oil,  and  cous-cous.  It's 
such  a  comfort  to  feel  one's  left  fish-knives  and  doiliea 
altogether  behind  one,  and  that  there  isn't  a  pair  of 
asparagus-tiongs  anywhere  nearer  than  Oran.' 

'  Perhaps,'  Owen  began,  rising  from  his  seat,  and  look- 
ing timidly  towards  Mr.  Hayward,  '  Miss  DraoopoU 
would  prefer ' 

•  I  beg  your  pardon,'  their  new  acquaintance  put  in 
quickly,  interrupting  him.  '  T'm  not  Miss  Draoopoli.  I 
object  to  these  meaningles*)  pure  oourteay  titleib  Mj 
namo's  lond.' 


'  i 
'1^1 


i 


■■", 
m 


3« 


UKDER  SEAI^ED  ORDERS 


*  But  I  can't  say  lonS  to  a  lady  I  never  met  in  my 
life  before  to-night,'  Owen  responded,  almost  blushing. 

•Why  not?'  the  pretty  stranger  answered,  with  most 
engaging  frankness,  'especially  as  you'll  mcst  likely 
never  see  me  again  in  your  life,  after  to-ucrrow.' 

Mr.  Hayward  looked  up  sharply.  h.&  was  glad  to 
hear  that  welcome  suggestion.  But  Owen  only  bowt  i, 
and  received  the  hint  in  regretful  silence. 

*  Well,  if  I  were  a  man,  you  see,'  Ion6  went  on,  com- 
posing herself  on  the  divan  in  Owen's  place,  with  her 
feet  under  her,  Oriental  fashion,  '  I'd  get  other  men,  of 
course,  to  call  me  Dracopoli.  But  a  girl  can't  quite 
do  that.  It's  unfeminine,  and  women,  I  think,  should 
always  be  womanly ;  so  the  only  way  out  of  it  is  to  say, 
frankly,  lonS.' 

'  So  universal  a  privilege  is  the  less  likely  to  be  highly 
prized,'  Mr.  Hayward  said  sententiously. 

'  Exactly,'  lonS  answered,  leaning  forward,  »?\  alert, 
and  opening  her  palms  before  her  demonstratively. 
'  That's  just  the  point  of  it,  don't  you  see?  Tt  .■:  ■  'enta 
stupid  nonsense.  I'm  all  for  social  free  Jom  myseh  :  '.nd 
social  freedom  we  girls  can  only  get  when  women  ipsist 
in  general  society  upon  being  accepted  as  citizens,  not 
as  merely  women.  What  I've  always  held  about  our 
future ' 

But  before  she  could  get  any  further  in  her  yolable 
harangue  the  landlord  of  the  little  inn,  if  one  may 
venture  to  give  the  village  guest-house  such  a  dignified 
name,  appeared  in  the  court  with  the  single  tray  which 
contained  their  dinner.  He  was  the  amine  or  headman 
of  the  little  mountain  community,  and  after  serving  the 
meal  he  and  his  friends  stood  by,  as  native  politeness 
demands,  not  to  partake  of  the  food,  but  to  do  honour 
to  their  guests,  and  to  enliven  them  witn  conversation. 
From  the  talk  that  ensued,  Owen,  who,  of  course,  spoke 
no  Arabic,  was  wholly  cut  off;  but  Mr.  Hayward  and 
lonfi  chatted  away  complacently.  Every  now  and  again, 
too,  the  amine  would  take  up  some  cous-cous,  or  a  morsel 
of  roast  kid,  in  his  dusky  fingers,  and  as  a  special  mark 
of  distinguished  consideration  thrust  it  bodily  into  their 
mouths—the  Oriental  equivalent  for  *  Do  let  me  tempt 


A  CRITICAL  EVENING 


S7 


yon  with  ftnoth  «r  slice  o'  turkey.'  Owen  felt  it  a  hard 
trial  of  his  courtesy  to  gulp  down  these  greasy  morsels 
from  those  doubtfully  washen  hands;  but  he  noticed 
with  admiration  that  lonS  Dracopoli  received  them  all 
with  every  outward  expression  of  appreciation  and 
delight,  and  he  marvelled  much  himself  at  the  young 
lady's  adaptiveness. 

•  What  a  power  of  accommodating  yourself  to  circum- 
stances you  must  have  I'  he  cried  at  last  to  her,  in  an 
unobtrusive  aside.  'I  can't  put  on  a  smiling  face  at 
those  great  greasy  boluses  of  his.  How  on  earth  do  yoa 
manage  it  ?' 

lonS  laughed  lightly. 

'  Habit,  I  suppose,'  she  answered,  with  a  sunny  glance 
at  the  amine.  '  That's  how  I  rub  along  so  well  with 
these  half-barbarous  people.  I'm  accustomed  to  giving 
way  to  their  crude  native  ideas,  and  so  I  seldom  get  into 
any  serious  bothers  with  them ;  and  though  I  travel 
alone,  they  never  dream  of  insulting  me,  b/en  if  they're 
a  bit  churlish  or  suspicious  sometimes.  And  then, 
besides,  I  dare  say,  my  ancestry  counts  for  a  great  deal 
I'm  not  BO  particular  about  my  food,  you  see,  rs  most 
regular  English  people.  Even  at  my  father's  table  in 
London,  we  always  had  black  olives,  and  caviare,  and 
all  sorts  of  queer  Greek  dishes — nasty  sloppy  messes  our 
visitors  called  them,  much  like  this  pillau ;  but  I  was 
brought  up  on  them,  and  I  liked  them.' 

'  And  then  you  speak  Arabic  so  well,'  Owen  went  on 
enthusiastically.  'That's  the  Greek  in  you  again,  I 
suppose?  Can  you  speak  many  languages?  Most 
Eastern  Europeans  have  such  a  natural  taste  for 
them.' 

'  Oh,  yes,  pretty  well,'  lond  replied,  with  the  careles? 
air  of  a  person  who  describes  some  unimportant  accom- 
plishment. '  English,  and  French,  and  German,  of 
course ;  those  come  by  nature — one  hears  everybody 
speaking  them;  and  then  modern  Greek,  papa's  business 
friends  always  spoke  that  in  the  house,  and  we  picked  it 
up  unconsciously  ;  and  anzient  Greek — papa  liked  ub  to 
know  enough,  you  see,  to  read  the  New  Testament  and 
follow  the  Bervioe  at  church.     Papa  was  orthodox,  of 


vl 


;v 


m 


;.  .1! 


i     1 


3» 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


'11 


I 


course,  and  we  went  to  Petersburg  Place ;  and  it  wai 
such  ftin  to  spell  out  Herodotus  and  Aristophanes  and 
^schylus.  Men  think  you're  clever ;  though,  when  you 
speak  modern  Greek  fluently,  you  know,  it  isn't  the  least 
bit  hard  to  pick  out  the  sense  of  Thucydides  and  Plato ; 
but  I'm  not  learned,  you  must  understand.  I've  only 
skimmed  them  through  ju  t  as  I'd  skim  Shakespeare  or 
a  French  novel,  or  Dante's  "Inferno."' 

And  she  helped  herself  to  some  curds  with  her  fingers 
daintily. 

'Then  you  know  Italipn,  too?'  Owen  interposed,  still 
more  open-mouthed. 

'  To  read,  not  to  talk — that  is  to  say,  not  well.  But 
I'd  soon  pick  it  up  if  I  was  a  week  in  the  country. 
That's  how  I  speak  Arabic,  as  she  is  spoke,  you  know — 
no  better.  I  took  lessons  for  a  fortnight  at  Oran  before 
I  started,  from  such  a  funny  old  Moor,  with  a  French 
wife  and  three  native  ones;  they  boarded  me  in  the 
harem,  and  we  jib-jabbered  together  from  morning  to 
night,  and  I  get  along  splendidly  now.  So  would  you, 
if  you  took  the  trouble,  and  if  you've  a  turn  for 
languages.' 

'  I  have,'  Owen  answered  modestly.  *  I  suppose  that 
runs  always  with  East  European  blood.*  He  paused  and 
faltered,  for  in  the  midst  of  the  amine's  conversation,  Mr. 
Hayward's  keen  eyes  had  darted  a  warning  glance  at 
him.  Then  he  went  on  more  quickly,  as  if  to  cover  the 
slip  :  '  Your  father's  dead,  I  gather,  from  what  you  say. 
But  have  you  a  mother  living  ?' 

'  Oh,  dear,  yes,'  lone  replied  frankly,  without  a  shade 
of  false  reserve.  *  A  dear  old  duck  of  a  mother.  She's 
Norse,  my  mother  is,  but  Orthodox — Greek  Church,  I 
mean,  you  know.  Papa  married  her  at  Bergen,  when  he 
was  there  in  business,  and  she  was  received  into  the 
Church  in  London,  after  he  was  made  a  partner.  That's 
why,  though  I'm  practically  English,  I  haven't  a  drop  of 
English  blood  in  my  veins — thank  Heaven  I  for  I  prefer 
to  be  original.  I'm  a  cross  between  Nora  Helmer  and 
the  Athenian  of  the  age  of  Pericles,  Sacha  always  tells 
me;  and  I'm  proud  of  the  mixtare.  Stay-at-home 
English  people  are  so  conventional  *   too  Philistine,  too 


A  CKITICAI^  QVHNINO 


afraid  to  trnst  their  own  wingi.    I'm  not  like  that.    Vm 
wild  on  freedom.' 

And  she  shook  her  straggliDg  locks  again,  standing  oat 
wavily  on  all  sides,  and  let  her  full  white  shirt  pone 
itself  out  as  it  would  over  her  uncorseted  bosom. 

*  So  I  should  think,'  Owen  answered,  with  a  slight 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  though  he  admired  her  boldness 
immensely.  '  But  does  your  mother — *  know  you're  out, 
he  was  half  tempted  to  add,  thoun^h  he  restrained  himself 
with  an  ehurt,  and  finished  the  sentence — '  approve  of 
your  coming  away  aU  alone  by  yourself  like  this  to 
Morocco  ? 

lond  drew  in  her  rich  red  lips  with  expression,  and 
wiped  them  internally — since  the  feast  knew  no  napkins. 

'  I'm  an  individualist,'  she  said  briskly ;  '  above  every- 
thing, an  individualist.  I  believe — it's  a  simple  creeds 
in  personal  freedom,  and  I'm  lucky  in  having  a  mother 
who's  an  individualist  too,  and  who  shares  my  confession 
of  faith.  When  I  was  coming  here,  I  said  to  her, 
*'  Well,  I'm  going  to  Morocco."  "  All  right,  dear,"  she 
said ;  *'  alone  ?"  "  Yea,  alone,  mother."  "  How  '11  you 
travel,  on  foot?"  "No,  if  possible,  on  horseback." 
"  When  do  you  start  ?"  "  To-morrow."  '♦  Very  well, 
dear;  take  care  of  yoursoll"  There's  a  mother  for  yon, 
if  yon  like.  I  think  I've  reason  to  be  proud  of  her.  I'm 
not  conceited,  I  hope,  but  I  flatter  myself  I've  brought  up 
my  mother  splendidly.' 

Mr.  Havward,  glancing  sideways,  would  have  given 
anything  that  moment  to  get  rid  of  the  amine.  This  con- 
versation was  terrible.  It  threatened  instant  ruin  to  all 
his  best-laid  plans.  Was  ever  Owen  confronted  with 
such  ft  dangerous  pitfall  ?  And  he  oould  do  nothing — 
nothing  to  stop  the  full  flow  of  this  strange  young 
woman's  too  attractive  3onfidenoe. 

He  tried  to  draw  hei  into  conversation  with  the  amines 
but  all  to  no  purpose.  long  was  much  more  interestingly 
engaged  elsewhere.  She  Uked  this  young  athlete  with 
the  great  English  limbs,  who  told  her  so  modestly  of  his 
olimbs  among  the  mountains — a  man  after  her  own  heart, 
And  so  handsome,  too,  and  so  appreciative.  She  rattled 
on  with  him  by  the  hour,  now  narrating  her  own  adven- 


\i!.l 


Ml 


I7NDBR  SEALED  ORDERS 


ti 


tnres,  now  drawing  out  his.  Long  after  the  meal  wai 
removed,  and  the  amine  had  withdrawn  gracefully  to  his 
evening  devotiona  (with  a  curse  for  the  infidels),  she  kept 
those  two  there  up  talking  continuously  with  her.  Mr. 
Hayward  himself,  that  heart  of  adamant,  was  hardly 
proof  against  her  seductive  charms.  She  was  so  frank, 
so  adventurous,  so  bold,  yet  so  innocent. 

*  You  mustn't  think  ill  of  me,*  she  said  at  last,  '  if  I've 
talked  like  a  woman  all  the  evening — and  all  about  mysell 
I've  a  right  to  be  garrulous.  I've  such  arrears  to  make 
up — such  arrears ;  oh,  dreadful  I  Just  consider ;  it's  five 
weeks  to-day  since  I've  met  a  Christian  soul  to  talk  to.' 

Mr.  Hayward  stroked  his  chin  and  roped  his  big  black 
moustache.    The  word  Christian  attracted  him. 

'  And  are  you  Orthodox,  then,  yourself,'  he  asked,  *  like 
your  father  and  mother  ?' 

lone  laughed  at  the  question. 

'  Orthodox  I'  she  cried  merrily,  with  a  girlish  toss  of 
her  pretty  head— it  was  a  true  Greek  head,  oval,  straight- 
nosed,  and  round-faced — '  not  in  any  sense  of  the  word. 
I'm  a  Christian,  I  hope,  in  essentials,  if  that's  what  you 
want  to  ask ;  but  Orthodox,  no,  no  I  Not  at  all  my  line 
that.  I'm  just  a  concentrated  bundle  of  all  the  hetero- 
doxies.' 

And  with  that  final  Parthian  shot  she  nodded  good- 
night to  them  both,  and  tripped  gracefully  away  into  the 
narrow  doorway  of  the  sleeping-room. 

Before  they  retired  for  the  night  to  roll  themselves  up 
in  their  own  rugs  on  the  smooth,  mud-paved  floor,  Mr. 
Hayward  whispered  for  a  moment  in  a  low  voice  to  Owen. 

'  My  boy,'  he  said,  not  angrily,  but  hke  one  grieved  and 
surprised,  laying  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder 
with  that  kindly  paternal  air  of  his,  •  what  a  terrible  slip 
about  your  East  European  blood  I  It  took  my  breath 
away  to  hear  you.  How  on  earth  did  you  ever  come  to 
doitr 

'  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,'  Owen  answered,  abashed  and 
penitent.  '  It  slipped  from  me  unawares.  I  suppose  I 
was  off  my  guard,  being  so  far  from  England.  Mr.  Hay- 
ward, you're  too  good  I  Don't  1  >ok  at  me  Uke  that,  but 
do  scold  me — do  scold  me  for  it.   I'd  give  worlds  if  you'd 


A  CRITICAL  EVENING  4« 

scold  me  sometimes  instead  of  taking  things  to  heart,  so. 
Oh,  how  wrong  of  me — how  silly !  What  can  I  do  to 
show  you  how  grieved  and  ashamed  I  am  ?  .  .  .  Dear 
friend,  dear  guardian,  don't  look  at  me  like  that.  This 
time  will  be  a  warning  to  me.  As  long  as  I  live,  I 
promise  you  faithfully,  I'll  never  do  so  again — never, 
never,  never  I* 
And  to  do  him  justice,  he  kept  his  word  faithfully. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


▲  PHOTOGBAFHIO  BTUDT. 


OwBN  slept  that  evening  much  worse  than  usaal.  Not 
that  the  externals  of  his  resting-place  at  Ain-Essa  differed 
in  any  essential  particular  from  those  of  the  other  squalid 
native  huts  where  he'd  spent  every  previous  night  since 
leaving  Tangier.  The  dogs  didn't  bark  louder,  the 
jackals  didn't  whine  in  a  more  melancholy  monotone, 
the  fleas  didn't  bite  with  any  livelier  persistence,  than  in 
all  the  other  sparse  Berber  villages  on  the  slopes  of  Atlas. 
But  Owen  slept  a  great  deal  less  than  his  wont,  for  all 
that ;  and  the  reason  was — he  was  thinking  of  lond. 

She  was  separated  from  him  only  by  a  thin  wooden 
partition ;  for  these  native  North  African  guest-houses 
are  far  from  luxurious.  Indeed,  it  is  the  fashion  to  make 
a  single  building  serve  the  double  purpose  of  an  inn  and 
of  the  village  cow-house.  At  one  end  of  the  guest- 
chamber  rises  a  broad  wooden  platform,  under  which 
the  mules  and  cattle  are  stabled,  their  heads  projecting 
through  an  opening  into  the  room  one  sleeps  in.  But  to 
this  arrangement,  which  carried  his  mind  away  at  first 
to  the  inn  at  Bethlehem,  Owen  had  by  this  time  grown 
perfectly  accustomed ;  what  he  hadn't  grown  accustomed 
to  was  long's  close  proximity.  For  the  room  was 
divided  transversely  by  a  thin  layer  of  pine  planks  ;  and 
through  the  chinks  of  the  boards,  as  well  as  through  the 
open  space  at  the  far  end  where  the  cattle  were  tethered 
he  oould  h^AT  lond's  deep  breath,  long  and  regular  lik«  n 


;i! 


'til 


:,il 


1 


T7NDBR  SEALED  ORDERS 


i 


child'!,  rise  And  fall  with  each  movement  of  that  inTisible 
bosom. 

He  thought  muoh  of  lonS,  therefore,  and  of  the  ohanca 
that  had  thrown  them  thus  strangely  together. 

She'd  come  there  for  amusement,  ehe  Baid ;  for 
amusement  alone,  and  perhaps,  when  she  got  back,  to 
write  a  book  about  it.  If  he'd  read  that  book  in  London, 
it  would  have  been  nothing,  nothing.  But  meeting  loni 
out  there,  in  the  flesh,  among  the  wild  hills  of  Morocco, 
in  her  masculine  attire  and  with  her  free  English  spirit — 
for,  after  all,  it  was  English— she  seemed  to  him  more 
like  some  creature  from  the  realms  of  fairyland :  some 
Hellenic  nymph.  Oread  or  Dryad  reTived,  in  this  alien 
world  of  woman-enslaving  Islam. 

Not  that  lond  seemed  to  think  much  of  her  own 
exploit  herself.  It  was  that  that  put  the  finishing  touch 
to  her  singular  character.  She  talked  as  though  it  were 
quite  a  matter  of  course  for  a  girl  of  nineteen  to  be 
travelling  alone  in  man's  clothes  through  the  mountains 
of  North  Africa.  A  mere  detail  of  convenience  on  an 
out-of-the-way  route.  An  accident  of  caprice.  Owen 
admired  her  all  the  more  for  it. 

But  she  must  have  money,  too.  That  was  htX  Or 
else  how  could  she  come  such  trips  as  this  by  herself  ? 
Owen  didn't  dream  of  marriage  yet — he  was  only  just 
turned  twenty — but  he  had  a  prejudice  against  money, 
especially  in  a  woman.  Most  wholosome-minded  men 
would  prefer  to  work  for  the  girl  of  their  choice  them- 
selves, and  let  her  owe  everythin3  to  them,  rather  than 
put  up  with  a  wife  who  could  keep  them  or  help  them, 
and  make  them  lose  their  sense  of  perfect  independence. 

At  last  he  dozed  off.  Even  so  he  slept  but  lightly. 
He  was  aware  of  the  bite  of  each  individual  flea  in  all 
tliat  populous  room,  and  heard  in  his  dreams  the  various 
droning  notes  of  each  responsive  jackal. 

Earlier  than  usual. next  morning  Mr.  Hayward  waked 
him  up  with  a  gentle  touch  on  his  shoulder. 

<Ldve-toi,'  he  said  in  French,  which  they  talked 
together  oftener  than  not,  for  practice'  sake,  on  these 
holiday  outings — thorough  colloquial  French  is  so  useful 
tot  young  men  in  the  diplomatic  Beryioe.     '  We  must  get 


I 


A  PHOTOGRAPHIC  STUDY 


ander  way  pretty  early  this  morning  or  we  shall  sleep 
a  la  belle  6toile.  I'm  thinking  of  a  long  stage.  Dress 
i|iiick,  and  come  out  to  me. 

He  didn't  say  why ;  but  Owen  fancied  he  knew,  for  all 
that.  Mr.  Hayward  was  anxious  to  get  well  started  on 
the  road  before  lond  was  up,  and  in  the  opposite  direction 
^rom  the  one  she  meant  to  go  in. 

In  that  hope,  however,  the  wise  guardian  of  youth  was 
unexpectedly  frustrated  ;  for  scarcely  had  they  gone  out 
into  the  cool  courtyard  from  the  stuffy  room  where  they'd 
passed  the  night  in  their  rugs  amid  the  hot  breath  of  the 
cattle,  when  a  lively  voice  broke  in  upon  them  : 

'  Good-morning,  friends ;  good-morning.  Isn't  it  just 
stifling  in  there  I     I'm  out  half  an  hour  before  you.' 

It  was  lonS,  sure  enough,  up  and  dressed  betimes,  in 
fez  and  white  shirt,  even  prettier  in  the  fresh  morning 
air  than  last  night  after  her  journey.  Did  she  always 
rise  so  early?  Owen  wondered  to  himself;  or  had  she 
got  up  on  purpose — he  hardly  dared  to  ask  it  of  his  own 
soul,  for  he  bad  tho  modesty  of  a  man — well,  on  purpose 
to  say  good-bye  to  then  ? 

lonS,  however,  didn't  leave  them  long  in  doubt. 

*  Oh,  Mr.  Hayward,'  she  said,  after  a  few  minutes,  in 
the  most  natural  way  possible,  '  I  wanted  to  see  yon 
before  I  went,  just  to  ask  you  a  favour.  I  wonder,  now, 
if  you'd  photograph  me  ?  You  said  last  night  you'd  a 
lens  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  here  with  you,  and  I 
thought,  if  you  didn't  mind,  it  'd  be  so  nice  to  be  "  took," 
as  the  servants  say,  in  all  my  chiffons  like  this,  got  up  in 
costume  as  a  regular  Barbary  barbarian.  Of  course,  I 
could  have  it  done,  you  know,  just  as  well  in  London ; 
only,  it  wouldn't  be  "  just  as  well,"  but  quite  different 
altogether.  If  I  went  for  it  to  Elliot  and  Fry's,  or  to 
Mortimer's  in  Bond  Street,  it  'd  be  a  cut-and-dried 
London  cabinet  portrait  of  a  lady  in  a  fancy  dress — 
nothing  more  than  that — no  surroundings,  no  reality. 
But  if  I  got  it  taken  here,  with  the  real  live  Atlas  in  the 
distance  for  a  background,  and  the  village  and  the 
Berbers  for  accessories  on  either  side — well,  suppose  I 
jh&ald  ever  happen  to  make  a  book  of  all  this,  just  think 
what  a  lovely  idea  for  a  frontispiece.' 


I 

m 

lit  Ml 

m 


m 


n 


% 


}'r ' 


-I 


1! 


f  1 


1  ; 


4i  UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 

]\Tr.  Hayward  laughed  and  humoured  her.  No  harm 
in  humouring — just  foi  once — a  pretty  girl  one'U  most 
likely  never  see  again  as  long  as  one  lives. 

•  I  am  Mortimer's  in  Bond  Street/  he  said,  V7ith  a 
quiet  smile.  '  In  private  life  I'm  known  as  Lambert 
Hayward;  but  in  business  I'm  Mortimer  and  Co.,  and 
I  live  by  taking  photographs.  However,  if  you  like,  after 
breakfast,  we'll  try,  thou^  I  don't  know  whether  these 
Berbers  will  care  very  much  to  let  us  get  a  shot  at  their 
villages.' 

•  Oh,  leave  that  to  me,'  lonS  said  confidently.  *  I'll 
soon  make  it  all  right.  I'll  get  round  the  amine.  He's 
a  dear  old  gentleman,  I  can  see,  and  he'll  do  anything 
one  asks  him — if  only  one  goes  the  right  way  to  work 
about  it.' 

And  as  she  said  it,  she  looked  so  bewitchingly  arch 
and  charming,  that  Mr.  Hayward  in  his  heart  agreed 
with  her  altogether.  Before  such  guileless  art,  even  ripe 
men,  he  felt  with  a  pang,  are  but  as  clay  in  the  hands  of 
the  potter. 

So  after  breakfast  he  got  out  his  camera,  obedient  to 
her  wish,  with  less  concealment  than  was  his  wont,  and 
proceeded  to  make  preparations  for  photographing  lonS. 
The  pretty  cosmopolitan  herself,  meanwhile,  poured  out 
voluble  explanations  in  very  womanly  Arabic  to  the 
village  chief,  at  each  sentence  of  which  the  old  Moslem 
stroked  his  own  short  beard  caressingly,  and  called  Allah 
to  witness  in  strange  gutturals  that  he  meant  no  harm, 
and  gazed  hard  at  the  pleading  girl,  and  reflected  to 
himself  with  a  very  puzzled  head  that  the  ways  of  Allah 
and  these  infidels  are  truly  wonderful.  Strange  that 
such  fair  women  should  be  wasted  on  unbelievers.  But 
at  the  end  of  it  all  he  raised  his  head  and  crossed  his 
hands  on  his  breast. 

•  Allah  is  great,'  he  murmured  piously.  *  You  have  eyei 
like  the  gazelle.     Do  as  you  will,  oh  lady.' 

'  We'll  have  it  here,  then,  Mr.  Hayward,'  lonS  said, 
motioning  him  over  towards  the  little  domed  tomb  of  a 
Mohammedan  saint,  surrounded  by  prickly  pears  and 
great  spike-leaved  aloes.  *  This  makes  such  a  pretty 
background.    It'i  Africa  all  over,  and  those  ohUdren 


A  PHOTOGRAPHIC  STITDY 


45 


(here  must  oome  across  and  be  examining  my  locket. 
*  This  way,  little  ones,'  in  Arabic.  '  Now,  just  so,  then, 
Mr.  Hayward.' 

The  operator  hesitated. 

*I  hardly  know  if  it's  quite  safe,'  he  said,  glancing 
quickly  to  either  side.  '  This  tomb  is  a  koubba,  you  see 
— the  shrine  of  some  petty  saint,  almost  as  holy  as  a 
mosque,  and  exceedingly  sacred.  The  people  may  be 
angry  with  us  if  I  try  to  make  a  picture  of  it.' 

lone  beamed  inquiry  with  those  bright  eyes  at  the 
amine.  The  amiTie,  overpowered,  nodded  ungrudging 
assent.  For  those  bright  eyes,  indeed,  what  live  man 
would  not  forego  all  the  houris  in  Paradise  ? 

•  Allah  is  great,'  he  muttered  once  more,  '  and  the  tomb 
is  a  holy  one.  It  will  save  the  picture  from  sin.  The  bones 
of  the  blessed  Sidi  Ahmed  Ben  Moussa  within  it  might 
sanctify  anything.' 

Which  is  one  way  of  looking  at  it.  Desecration  and 
wild  revenge  by  sudden  murder  is  the  other  one. 

'  Shall  I  stand  in  line,  too,  just  to  balance  the  group?' 
Owen  suggested,  half  trembling. 

Mr.  Hayward,  at  the  camera,  raised  one  warning  hand 
in  solemn  deprecation. 

'  No,  no,'  he  said  quickly.  '  That  would  never,  never 
do.  Your  European  get-up  would  break  in  upon  the 
unity  of  the  scene,  Owen.  Fetch  Miss  Dracopoli's 
Algerian — I  beg  your  pardon — lone's,  I  mean.  "  His 
dress  is  so  distinctive.  He'll  be  much  more  appro- 
priate.' 

'  Won't  this  man  here  do  still  better  ?'  Owen  asked, 
raising  his  hand  to  point  at  a  handsome  young  native 
who  lounged  by  the  arched  door  of  a  neighbouring  hut, 
in  the  picturesque  upland  garb  of  the  country,  one  long 
cloak  folded  toga- wise. 

But  lone  dashed  doTTii  his  arm  almost  faster  than  ho 
raised  it. 

'  Don't  do  that  I'  ska  cried,  half  alarmed.  '  Haven't 
^oa  learnt  that  yet  ?  You've  no  idea  what  an  insult  it 
IB.  He  might  rush  at  you  and  stab  you  for  it.  In 
Morocco  you  should  never  venture  to  point  at  anybody. 
They  thicJc  it  brings  down  upon  them  the  evil-eye.    My 


HI 


l\ 


li 


1  1  : 

■i     W    t 

i  i ! 

if 

s 

1 1 

i  1) 

'<    'i 
I    ii 


0  VNDBR  SBALBD  ORDBXB 

6Ld  Moor  at  Oran  told  me  that,  and  lots  of  other  good 
tips  like  it.  They're  a  ticklish  people  to  deal  with,  these 
Berbers,  and  you've  got  to  humour  them.  Pointing's 
almost  as  bad  as  asking  the  father  of  a  household  after 
his  wives  and  family.  You  should  ignore  his  woman- 
kind. They're  his  own  concern  here  you  see,  and  nobody 
else's.  What  a  country  to  live  in  1  ~  wouldn't  suit  ma 
I'm  awfully  glad,  after  all,  I  was  1:  m  some  ways  an 
Englishwomaa' 

The  pose  was  quickly  completed,  and  the  picture 
taken.  As  soon  as  it  was  finished,  Mr.  Hayward  went 
off  for  a  minute  to  pack  the  negative  with  the  rest,  leaving 
Owen  and  lond  alone  by  the  dome-covered  tomb  for  a 
short  breathing-space. 

The  moment  he  was  gone,  lond  gazed  at  the  young 
man,  and  murmured  in  a  ruminative  voice : 

'  So  he's  Mortimer  and  Co.,  is  business.  How  corioiis  I 
How  singular  I' 

'Tes,  Mortimer  and  Co.,  in  Bond  Street,'  Owen 
answered,  somewhat  alarmed  at  the  torn  her  thoughts 
were  taking. 

*And  out  of  it  he  calls  himself  Lambert  Hayward, 
does  he  ?' 

'  He  does.    Lambert  Hayward.' 

'  But  what's  his  real  name  V  loni  bnrst  oat,  taming 
round  with  a  sudden  dart,  and  flashing  the  question  on 
him  unexpectedly. 

Owen  was  quite  taken  abaok  ak  her  Ughtning-like 
quickness. 

'  His  real  name,'  he  repeated  all  difionoerted.   *  Why, 

1  told  you — Liambert  Hayward.' 

'  Oh,  bosh  r  lond  answered  promptly,  with  the  saucy 
confidence  of  a  pretty  girL  *  Yon  don't  really  expeet  me 
to  swallow  that  now,  do  you  ?' 

'  Why  not  ?'  Owen  asked,  flushing  hot. 

'  Why  not  ?'  lond  echoed,  brimming  OTer  with  oonsoioos 
discovery.  •  Weil,  that's  really  too  absurd  of  you.  Why 
not  Lambert  Hayward  ?  Simply  because  Lambert  Hay- 
ward's  a  pure  English  name,  and  your  friend's  no  more 
English  than  I  am ;  nor  half  as  much  either,  U  it  oomai 
lo  thai    He  wasn't  even  bom  in  England.' 


A  PHOTOGRAPHIC  STUDY  # 

•  Ton  think  not  T  Owen  answered  nneasily  appaUed  •! 
the  girl's  hasty  intuitioa 

<  Oh  dear  no  I'  lond  cried  with  decision,  shaking  hei 
pretty  fluffy  hair.  '  I  knew  that  at  a  glanca  I  knew  it 
by  his  r's,  and  his  o,  w's,  and  his  8,  /I's.  He's  not  English 
at  all,  I'm  sure ;  the  man's  a  Bussian.' 

There  was  a  deep,  long  pause.  Owen  could  hear  his 
own  heart  beat.  He  wouldn't  tell  a  lie,  and  the  truth 
would  undo  him.  He  let  his  eyes  rest  nervously  on  the 
ground  some  seconds ;  he  didn't  dare  to  raise  them  lest 
his  witch  should  read  every  thought  in  his  reeling  brain. 
'He  calls  himself  an  Englishman,'  he  murmured  at 
last,  '  and  says  he  was  bom  in  England ;'  and  for  one 
instant  he  looked  at  her. 

Their  eyes  met  in  a  flash.  lonS's  peered  deep  into  his ; 
Owen  quailed  before  her  keen  scrutiny.  Then  the  girl 
added  calmly : 

'Yes,  but  it  isn't  true^  yon  know,  and  you  yourself 
know  it  isn't.  He's  as  Bussian  as  he  can  be — as  Bussian 
as  they  make  them.  His  native  tongue's  Busski.  I're 
half  a  mind  to  try  him  with  a  sentence  or  two  in  good  Buss, 
just  to  see  how  it  confuses  him. 

Owen  stared  at  her  in  mute  agony.  Oh,  what  on  earth 
was  he  to  do  ?  He  clasped  his  hands  and  grew  cold ;  he 
felt  like  a  criminal. 

'  For  Heaven's  sake  dorCt  P  he  cried,  all  agnast.  *  If 
you  do,  what  can  he  think,  except  that  I've  betrayed  him, 
and  I'd  sooner  die  than  that  ?  If  you  speak  a  word  to 
him  in  Bussian,  I'll  jump  over  the  nearest  orag  and  kill 
myself.* 

He  spoke  with  awful  seriousness.  lond  took  it  in  at  a 
gUnce;  she  saw  how  alarmed  he  was,  and  nodded  a 
quiet  acquiescence. 

'  Don't  be  afraid,'  she  said  shortly ;  '  I'm  as  dark  af 
night,  and  as  close  as  the  grave.  I  won't  whisper  a  word 
to  him.  Besides,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  know  any 
Buss.  I  said  it  for  a  joke.  But  you  see  I  was  right.  You 
admit  it  yourself  now.  I  was  just  sure  he  was  a  Bussian.' 
At  that  moment,  as  she  spoke,  Mr.  Hayward  stalked 
unconcernedly  out  of  the  guest-house  in  the  rear. 
'  Daughter  of  all  the  Dracopolis,'  he  said  gaily,  for  ho 


UNDER  SEAI^ED  ORDERS 


n 


was  too  polite  to  go  on  calling  her  loiS  outright,  even  at 
her  own  request,  *  it's  succeeded  very  well,  and  is  a 
capital  photograph.  To  what  address  in  London  may  I 
send  you  the  positives  ?* 

But  even  as  he  said  it  he  saw  what  a  mistake  he  had 
made.  For  it  was  giving  Owen  the  clue  to  the  pretty 
Greek's  address — though,  after  all,  if  one  came  to  think, 
ho  could  have  got  it  if  he  was  so  minded,  from  Sacha, 
any  day. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


DANGEB  AHEAD. 


fl    i, 


As  soon  as  the  photograph  was  finished,  lonS  prepared  to 
go  her  own  way  and  continue  her  journey.  Ali  brought 
round  her  horse,  ready  saddled,  and  lone,  now  fully 
dressed  in  her  embroidered  jacket  and  fez,  sprang  lightly 
on  its  back  with  an  easy  vault,  man-fashion. 

'  Well,  it's  been  pleasant  to  meet  a  European  face 
again,  and  hear  a  word  or  two  of  English,'  she  said, 
turning  towards  them  with  a  sunny  smile  on  those  full 
rich  lips.  *  I  don't  deny  that,  though  I  came  here  to 
escape  them.  It's  good  of  you  to  have  troubled  about  my 
photograph,  too.  Thank  you  ever  so  much  for  it.  And 
now  good-bye.  We  may  meet  again  some  day,  I've  no 
doubt,  in  London.' 

'  All  fortuitous  atoms  clash  at  the  centre  at  last,'  Mr. 
Hayward  answered,  in  his  sententious  way,  raising  hia 
hat  and  holding  his  head  bare  with  the  same  stately 
courtesy  as  ever  till  she  was  well  o  it  of  sight.  '  Whai's 
your  next  stage  to-day  ?    Where  dD  you  go  from  here  ?' 

lone  looked  to  the  strapping  of  the  little  bag  behind 
her  saddle  as  she  answered  gaily  : 

'  Taourist,  Taourist ;  a  very  fanatical  and  turbulent 
village,  our  host  here  tells  me ;  no  photographing  mosques 
there.  They  shoot  you  for  amusement.  And  you,  Mr. 
Hayward  ?     You'll  be  sleepir"  at ' 

*  Oua  7An,'  Mr.  Hayward  answered,  still  bareheaded  by 
the  gateway. 


DANGBR  AHEAD 


49 


*Ooodt'  lond  replied,  with  that  expansive  smile  of 
hers — too  expansive,  Owen  thought  to  himself,  fbr  it  in- 
eluded  all  humanity. 

And  then  she  waved  them  a  friendly  adieu  with  her 
plump  ungloved  hand,  and  rode  off  like  a  sunbeam, 
rejoicing  in  her  strength  and  youth  and  beauty. 

As  she  rounded  the  comer  out  of  sight,  Mr.  Hayward 
turned  and  gave  the  order  to  their  own  servant  to  start 
immediately.  Half  an  hour  later  they  were  threading 
once  more,  single  file,  the  narrow  bridle-paths  on  the 
yoloanic  hillside. 

The  village  of  Ain-Essa,  from  which  they  had  just 
come,  like  most  other  in  the  Berber  uplands  of  the  Atlas, 
crowned  the  summit  of  a  small  knoll ;  and  all  roads  to 
all  parts  converged  and  diverged  at  a  spot  a  few  hundred 
yards  on  the  slope  below  it.  When  they  had  reached 
this  Clapham  Junction  of  the  local  highway  system,  Mr. 
Hayward  halted  a  moment  in  doubt,  and  pointed  aJiead 
inquiringly  to  one  out  of  the  three  main  routes  that 
branched  off  in  various  directions. 

'  Where  does  it  go  ?'  he  asked  their  Monrant  in 
Arabia 

And  the  man,  bending  his  head,  made  answer, 
'  Taourist.' 

Owen's  quick  ear,  accustomed  to  rapid  assimilation  of 
foreign  languages,  caught  the  strange  sounds  at  once,  and 
even  interpreted  the  question  aright,  for  he  was  beginning 
by  this  time  to  pick  up  a  few  stray  words  of  Arabic. 
Taourist  t  That  was  where  lond  had  said  she  was  going  t 
But  they  were  not  to  follow  her.  Mr.  Hayward  looked 
away  quickly,  and  tm'ued  to  the  second  one. 

'  And  this  ?'  he  asked,  pointing  to  the  west  with  hig 
riding-whip. 

'  Effendi,  to  Ouarzin.' 

Mr.  Hayward  shook  his  head  again.  That  surprised 
Owen  not  a  little.  For  Ouarzin  was  the  village  they  had 
mapped  out  to  take  next  in  due  course  on  their  route,  and 
only  that  very  morning,  too,  Mr.  Hayward  had  told  lono  he 
meant  to  go  there.  Now,  Mr.  Hayward,  he  knew,  was  by 
BO  means  a  man  to  turn  lightly'asids  from  any  resolve  ono« 
made,  however  unimportont. 


'rm 


80 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


\ 


V! 


r 


^ 


I 


'  The  third  one  ?'  he  asked  once  more,  with  demon* 
etrative  crop. 

The  Arab  attendant  shrugged  his  shoulders  uneasily. 

'  Ah,  Effendi,'  he  said,  '  a  bad  road — a  very  bad  road 
indeed— and  a  wild  net  of  villagers.  It  was  up  there  a 
Spaniard — a  very  lich  man — was  killed  by  the  dervishea 
last  year  out  of  hatred  of  the  infidel.  I  don't  advise  you 
to  try  there.     It's  called  Beni-Mengella.' 

In  spite  of  this  adjuration,  however,  Mr.  Hayward 
'oosened '  his  rein,  and  took  the  last-named  path  without 
a  word  of  explanation.  Owen  followed  in  silenoa  The 
Arab  servant  for  his  part  was  too  respectful  or  too  over- 
awed to  venture  on  questioning  him. 

They  rode  on  for  some  minutes  along  the  steep  and 
narrow  mule-traok,  a  mere  ledge  on  the  hillside,  mount- 
ing up  and  ever  up,  beset  with  endless  loose  stones,  and 
overhung  by  ragged  thickets  of  prickly  cactus.  It  was  a 
beautiful  scene.  To  the  left  rose  the  mountains,  densely 
wooded  to  the  top  with  rich  and  luxuriant  Southern 
vegetation ;  to  the  right  yawned  the  ravine,  leading  down 
into  a  deep  valley,  tilled  in  patches  with  scanty  corn  or 
waving  gray  with  silvery  oUve  groves.  White  yillages 
perched  here  and  there  on  buttressed  spurs  of  the  moun- 
tain-tops, petty  mosques  or  domed  tombs  and  whited 
sepulchres  of  dead  saints,  served  to  diversify  the  principal 
heights  with  appropriate  local  landmarks.  Below  lay 
tangled  gorges  oi  the  mountain  streams,  pink  with  flower- 
ing oleanders  or  draped  by  rich  festoons  of  creamy  African 
clematis.  Now  and  then,  near  the  villages,  they  just 
spied  for  a  second  some  group  of  laughing  girls,  their 
faces  unveiled,  bearing  pitchers  on  their  heads,  and 
passing  to  and  fro  with  loud  cries  and  merry  chatter 
from  the  fountain.  Mr.  Hayward  would  have  given  much 
to  get  a  snap-shot  at  such  a  group ;  but,  unfortunately, 
the  Berber  women  were  as  timid  as  fawns,  and,  seeing 
them,  fled  soared  behind  the  shelter  of  the  trees,  or 

Eeepcd  out  at  them  as  they  passed  from  behind  some  dark- 
ug  doorway  with  the  mingled  curiosity  and  fear  of  a 
pack  of  shy  children. 

After  half  an  hour  or  more  of  this  silent  ridib  Oww 
broke  in  suddenly  at  last ; 


DANGER  AHEAD 


*  I  thought,  Mr.  Hayward,  you  meant  to  go  to  Oaar- 

zin. 

'  So  I  did,'  his  friend  answered,  without  looking  back 
or  slackening  rein,  '  but  at  the  very  last  moment  f 
changed  my  mind.  Modifiability  of  opinion,  you  know, 
Owen,  as  Herbert  Spencer  says,  is  a  fair  rough  test  of  the 
highest  intelligence.' 

When  Mr.  Hayward  talked  like  that  Owen  was  always 
overawed.  Irrepressible,  cheery  English  schoolboy  that 
he  was  at  heart,  those  short  sentences  of  Mr.  Hayward's 
shut  him  up  completely. 

As  he  answered  nothing  of  himself,  his  friend  added, 
after  a  pause : 

'  I  wouldn't  go  to  Taourist,  because  Miss  Draoopoli 
said  she  wa^  going  there ;  and  I  wouldn't  go  to  Ouarzin, 
because  I'd  told  Miss  Dracopoli  we  should  spend  the 
night  there  ourselves,  and  I  thought — well,  I  thought 
perhaps  she  might  elect  to  change  her  mind,  and  go  on 
there,  after  all,  on  purpose  to  meet  us.  So  now,  you 
see,  Owen,  I'm  always  frank  with  you.  I've  told  you 
the  whole  truth.  You  can  guess  the  rest  for  yourself. 
Some  men  in  my  place  would  have  concealed  it  from  you 
sedulously.  That's  not  my  way,  my  boy.  I  tell  you 
the  simple  truth,  and  I  tell  it  outright.  ...  To  put  it 
plainly,  I  don't  think  it's  well  for  you  to  see  too  much 
of  young  women  of  Miss  Dracopoli's  temperament.' 

And  Mr.  Hayward  was  quite  right.  He  was  acting, 
as  usual,  with  all  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent  and  all  the 
innocence  of  the  dove.  By  thus  saying  straight  out  his 
inmost  mind  to  Owen,  he  was  putting  Owen  on  his 
honour,  as  it  were,  and  compelling  acquiescence.  For 
Owen  was  Englishman  enough  to  feel  such  generous 
treatment  bound  him  down  in  turn  to  the  intensost 
integrity.  If  Mr.  Hayward  didn't  wish  him  to  see  more 
of  lond,  how  in  goodness'  name  could  he  ever  do  enough 
to  avoid  her  in  future  ?' 

Not  that  he  was  so  very  anxious  to  meet  their  new 
friend  again;  though  she  took  his  fancy  immensely  at 
first  sight.  Her  freedom,  her  courage,  her  frankness, 
her  innocence,  all  hit  him  hard  on  the  tenderest  points, 
and  he  knew  it  already.    But  it  was  the  principle,  above 


I 


ill 


M 


Si  UNDBK  SKALBD  ORDBRS 

all  things,  that  troubled  him  sorely.  Did  Mr.  Hayward 
mean  to  put  him  thus  on  his  honour,  he  wondered,  as 
to  lone  in  particular,  or  to  all  women  in  general  ?  If 
the  last,  that  was  surely  a  very  large  order.  Owen  was 
just  growing  to  the  age  when  a  pretty  girl  exercises  a 
distinct  magnetic  influence  on  a  young  man's  soul.  Did 
Mr.  Hayward  intend  that  all  that  side  of  human  natine 
•hould  be  a  blank  page  to  him?  Was  he  to  lead  an 
anchorite's  life?  Did  the  cause  demand  even  that 
painful  sacrifice  of  him  ? 

After  a  few  minutes'  pause  he  spoke. 

<Mi8B  Dracopoli  in  particular?'  he  asked,  pursuing 
Us  own  train  of  thought,  as  if  Mr.  Hayward  had  been 
following  it  all  the  time,  as  indeed  v^as  the  case,  '  or  all 
women  in  general  ?' 

Mr.  Hayward  turned  and  gazed  at  him — a  mute,  im- 
ploring gaze. 

*  My  boy,'  he  said  kindly,  but  with  a  sort  of  terror  in 
his  eye,  '  sooner  or  later  I  felt  this  subject  must  be  dis- 
enssed  between  us,  and  to-day's  as  good  an  occasion  for 
discussing  it  as  any.  On  this  point,  Owen,  I  feel  exactly 
like  Paul — I  have  no  commandment  from  the  Lord  about 
itf  but  I  give  you  my  jiidgment :  "  I  would  have  you 
without  carefulness."  I  would  have  your  hands  kept 
free,  if  possible,  to  do  the  work  that's  set  before  you. 
Bemember,  love  affairs  are  a  very  great  snare ;  they  take 
up  a  young  man's  time  and  distract  his  attention.  That's 
wny  I've  kept  single  to  this  day  myself.  There  are 
women  I  might  have  loved,  but  I've  cherished  my  celi- 
bacy. It  allowed  me  to  direct  my  undivided  energies 
to  the  good  of  the  cause.  **  He  that  is  unmarried,"  savs 
Paul,  "  careth  for  the  things  that  belong  to  the  Lord, 
bow  he  may  please  the  Lord;  but  he  that  is  married 
eareth  for  the  things  that  are  of  the  world,  how  he  may 
please  his  wife."  There  you  have  the  question  in  a 
nutshell.  And  S0|  like  the  Apostle,  I  lay  no  command 
upon  you.  I'm  too  wise  for  tnat.  If  you  must  fall  in 
love,  you  mmtt  and  no  care  or  resolution  will  keep  you 
out  of  it.  But,  at  any  rate,  you  needn't  rush  into  the 
way  of  it  needlessly.  Keep  your  head  clear  if  you  can, 
ana  let  the  cause  have  the  heart  of  you.' 


DANGER  AHEAD 


SS 


Aad  for  the  rest  of  that  ride  Mr.  Hay  ward  talkecl  on 
with  unwonted  freec^om  ard  vigour  of  the  cause.  He 
talked  mucii,  too,  of  his  plms  for  Owen's  future  life, 
and  of  how  the  cause  was  to  be  benefited  by  his  going 
into  the  diplomatic  service. 

'  But  even  if  I  get  an  attache's  place,'  Owen  said  at 
last,  with  a  glance  &a  he  passed  at  a  green  ravine  below 
them,  '  how  can  you  ever  ensure  my  getting  sent  to 
Petersburg  ?'  He  always  spoke  of  it  so,  and  not  as  St. 
Petersburg.  It's  the  Eussian  way,  and  he  had  picked 
up  the  habit  from  Mr.  Hay  ward. 

The  elder  man  smiled  a  calm,  sereni.  ^niiie  oi  superior 
wisdom. 

'  My  dear  boy,'  he  said,  looking  back  a^  him,  '  yoa 
needn't  trouble  about  that.  Do  you  think  I've  laid  my 
schemes  in  such  a  haphazard  way  as  j'our  question  im- 
plies?— I,  Lambert  Hay  ward?  You  don't  know  me  yet, 
Owen.  But  you  have  no  need  to  muddle  j'^our  head 
about  such  trifles.  Your  place  is  to  go  wherever  you 
may  be  sent,  and  to  wait  till  the  signal  for  action  is 
given  you.  Till  then  you  can  leave  all  with  perfect 
safety  to  me.  When  the  signal  comes  you  must  strike, 
and  strike  home ;  and  as  long  as  this  world  lasts  tk 
grateful  country  will  remember  you.' 

*I  see,'  Owen  answered,  almost  blushing  for  his  in- 
discretion in  asking.  *  I  might  have  guessed  it,  I  know. 
You  do  nothing  carelessly,  and  I  understand  how  many 
strings  you  hold  in  your  hand  at  once  ;  how  intricate  to 
pull,  how  difi&cult  to  co-ordinate.  I  realize  how  you're 
in  touch  with  every  chord  and  pulse  of  this  vast  organiza- 
tion the  whole  world  over.  Don't  think,  Mr.  Hayward, 
I  undervalue  the  privilege  of  being  so  trusted  by  you, 
and  of  living  so  near  yoa  Don't  think  I  doubt  for  a 
moment  your  power  to  arrange  this,  or  almost  anything 
else  you  seriously  set  your  mind  upon.  Only,  I  wondered, 
even  with  all  your  influence,  how  you  could  so  far  pull 
the  wires  of  the  Foreign  Office  in  England  as  to  get  a 
particular  attachd  sent  to  Petorsburg  or  to  Vienna.' 

The  smile  on  Mr.  Hayward's  lips  grew  deeper  and 
wiser  than  ever.  He  turned  his  head  onoe  more,  and 
answoied  in  the  same  masterful  tone  as  before ; 


mi 


m 


'SI 


K    ;. 

f         ' 

1      :1 


f       4 


,  ii 


'  ■    ■   ; 


14  I7NDBR  SEALED  ORDERS 

'Owen,  yoQ  take  far  too  muoh  for  granted.  To« 
think  you  fathom  me,  my  boy ;  you  think  you  fathom 
me.  Many  men  and  women  have  tried  to  do  that  in 
their  time,  but  not  one  of  them  has  succeeded.  . 
Why,  Mvho  told  you  I  ever  meant  you  to  go  to  Petersburg 
at  all?  Pure  inference  of  your  own,  pure  human  in- 
ference ;  I  never  said  so.'  He  paused  a  moment  and 
reflected.  Then  he  went  on  again  more  confidentially. 
'  See  here,'  he  said,  dropping  his  voice  by  pure  habit  even 
in  those  unpeopled  wilds.  '  It's  not  in  iRussia  itself  that 
we  stand  the  best  chance  of  striking  a  decisive  blow  at 
this  hateful  autocracy.  Quite  the  contrary;  nowhere 
else  in  the  world  are  our  opportunities  so  small,  or  the 
defence  so  active.  There  we're  watched,  numbered, 
thwarted,  conspired  against,  counter-plotted ;  there  we're 
held  in  check  by  endless  spies  and  police  and  soldiers ; 
there  the  men  and  women  of  the  Bomanoff  horde  are 
guided  night  and  day  by  innumerable  precautions.  In 
Eussia  itself,  I  doubt  whether  even  an  English  attacM 
could  ever  get  near  enough  the  person  of  the  chief 
criminal  or  his  leading  accomplices  to  effect  anything 
practical.  He  might,  of  course,  or  he  mightn't.  But 
that  isn't  the  plan  I  have  in  view  for  you,  Owen.  I 
mean  to  let  them  send  you  wherever  they  like.  And 
wherever  you  go,  you'll  be  equally  useful  to  us.' 

•  More  perhaps  elsewhere  than  at  Petersburg  itself,* 
Owen  suggested,  as  calmly  as  if  it  were  the  merest 
ordinary  business.  He  had  been  brought  up  to  regard 
it  so,  and  it  was  so  that  he  regarded  it. 

'  More  perhaps  elsewhere,'  Mr.  Hayw£trd  assented  with 
a  nod.  '  Much  more  perhaps  elsewhere.  At  Petersburg 
vou  might  pick  up  for  us  some  useful  information,  and 
being  an  Englishman  and  a  member  of  the  Embassy, 
you'd  be  the  less  suspected  of  having  anything  to  do  with 
us.  But  elsewhere  you  could  manage  far  more  than  that. 
You  might  have  access  to  the  Eomanoifs  themselves, 
whenever  one  of  them  came  by.  There's  nowhere  they 
mayn't  come — they  pervade  all  Europe — Copenhagen, 
Athens,  Nice,  Florence,  Brussels — and  even  the  jealous 
oare  of  the  most  friendly  police  can't  exclude  from  their 
cixole  members  of  the  diplomatic  body.    Why,  they're  nol 


DANGBR  AHBAD 


eren  lafe  in  Asia  itself ;  we  dogged  them  through  Indiai 
One  of  them  was  wounded  the  other  day  in  Japan; 
another  was  attacked,  though  all  that  was  hushed  up,  al 
the  Taj  at  Agra.  Therein  lies  our  strength,  my  boy; 
we're  ubiquitous  and  irrepressibla  The  criminals  nev  jir 
know  from  what  unexpected  point,  at  what  unexpected 
moment,  the  ministers  of  justice  may  overtake  them  and 
jfKmnce  down  upon  them.  And  what  would  terrify  them 
more  than  the  sudden  discovery  some  day,  in  the  midst  of 
the  festivities  of  some  foreign  court,  that  a  minister  of 
justice  stood  unnoticed  even  there,  in  the  guise  of  an  envoy 
of  some  friendly  potentate  ?  We  want  to  make  it  impos* 
sible  for  any  man,  however  brave,  to  accept  the  bad 
eminence  of  autocrat  and  gaoler-in-chief  of  all  the  Bussias. 
Can  you  imagine  any  plan  more  likely  to  accomplish  our 
end  than  this  plan  of  striking  a  blow  where  it's  least 
expected  by  the  hand  of  one  who  had  always  passed  for 
a  neutral  Englishman,  and  whose  very  connection  with 
the  Cause  or  the  People  in  Bussia  no  one  but  oarselves 
would  ever  so  much  as  dream  of  suspecting  ?' 

Owen  glanced  ahead  at  him  admiringly. 

'Mr.  Hay  ward,'  he  said  with  profound  oonviotioB, 
'you're  a  wonderful  man.  If  anyone  can  free  BussiA, 
you  surely  will  do  it  I  It  makes  me  proud  to  have  sat  §M 
such  a  patriot's  feet.  Forgive  me  if  I've  asked  you  too 
much  to-day.  I'm  only  the  very  least  of  your  subordinates, 
I  know,  and  I  never  want  to  worm  out  more  than  th« 
oommander-in-ohief  himself  willingly  tells  me.' 

Mr.  Hay  ward  gave  him  a  look  of  true  paternal  kindlinesi, 

•  Eight,  my  boy,'  he  said  warmly.  '  You're  always  riffhl 
I  never  had  anyone  I  could  trust  and  be  trusted  by  uke 
you,  horn  the  very  beginning.  That  gives  me  much  hope. 
Though  things  look  black  ahead  now.' 

And  then,  in  a  voice  full  of  fiery  indignation,  he  gvn 
way  all  at  once  in  a  very  rare  outburst,  and  began  to 
recount  in  rapid  words  a  whole  string  of  terrible  atrocities 
in  Siberia  and  elsewhere,  detailed  to  him  in  cipher  by  his 
last  budget  from  St.  Petersburg. 

Owen  listened,  and  felt  his  Hood  boil  within  him.  Not 
for  nothing  had  Mr.  Hayward  trained  up  in  the  faith  his 
Nihilist  neophyte 


,1 . 
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If! 

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UNDER  SEALED  ORDBKJ 


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! 


CHAPTEE  IX. 


FAMILY     BUBINBS8. 


In  Morocco,  these  things.  Away  over  in  St.  Petersburg, 
that  self-same  day,  a  lady  was  closeted  close  in  a  bureau 
of  the  Third  Section  with  that  stern  military  policeman, 
General  Alexis  Sehstoff. 

'  And  so  you've  obtained  some  influence  with  him,  you 
think,  Madame  Mireff?'  the  General  said,  musing  and 
twirling  his  bronzed  thumbs. 

'  Influence  ?'  Madame  Mireff  repeated,  with  a  bland 
feminine  smile.  '  I  can  just  twist  him  round  my  fingers 
— so,'  and  she  suited  the  action  to  the  word.  '  As  a 
statesman,  of  course,  Lord  Caistor's  unapproachable  and 
irreproachable — we  all  know  that ;  but  as  a  man — well, 
he's  human.  I  take  him  on  the  human  side — and  I  do 
what  I  like  with  him.' 

The  General  smiled  responsive — a  grim  smile  and 
sardonic. 

'  Pohtics,'  he  murmured  in  a  very  soft  voice,  like  a 
woman's  for  gentleness — though,  to  be  sure,  it  was  he  who 
flogged  a  Polish  lady  to  death  once  at  Warsaw  for  some 
trifling  act  of  insubordination  to  the  Government  orders 
— '  politics  have  a  morality  all  of  their  own.' 

Madame  Mireff  assented  with  a  graceful  nod. 

'  Though  you  mustn't  for  a  moment  suppoce,'  she  said, 
hesitating,  '  that  our  personal  relations ' 

The  General  was  a  gentleman.  (In  Eussia  that  quality 
is  by  no  means  incompatible  with  flogging  women  to  death 
when  the  morality  peculiar  to  politics  sanctions  or  even 
demands  such  an  extreme  act  of  di°cipline).  He  cut  her 
9hort  F.t  once  with  a  polite  wave  of  the  hand. 

*  My  dear  Madame  Mireff,'  he  said,  in  his  most  depre- 
ciating tone,  '  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  could  for  one  second 
imagine  that  a  lady  of  your  character ' 

One  outstretched  palm  ar.d  a  half-averted  face  com- 
pleted  the  sentence. 

*  Of  course  you  understand  me,'  Madame  Mireff  weni 
on,  blushing  a  trifle  even  so.    *  We  are  friends,  hn  and  X 


\ 


VAMILY  BUSINBS8 


17 


— thaVs  bXL  The  Earl  is  an  able  man  and  a  keen  poli- 
ticifiin ;  but  in  private  life  he's  a  most  charming  person. 
"We  get  on  together  admirably.  Figurez  voua  that  I  go 
down  to  stop  now  and  then  with  dear  Lady  Caistor  at 
Sherringham-on-Sea  ;  and  there  I  have  the  Earl  to  myself 
half  the  day  in  the  garden  or  the  drawing-room.  .  .  . 
We  never  talk . politics,  General,  you  must  understand. 
Pas  si  bite,  I  need  hardly  tell  you.  I  influence  him  gently ; 
the  dropping  of  water  on  a  stone ;  a  constant  impercep- 
tible side-pressure,  if  I  may  say  so.  Bussia  in  the 
abstract ;  a  Bussian  woman  in  the  concrete ;  that's  all  I 
have  to  play  against  his  astuteness  and  his  suspicion. 
Our  sincerity,  our  devotion,  our  simple,  natural  straight- 
forwardness, our  enthusiasm  for  humanity — those  are  the 
chief  chords  of  my  four-strin^-^ed  lute.  I  harp  on  it 
always,  though  not,  I  hope,  monotonously.  It  tells  upon 
him  in  the  end.  You  can  see  it  telling  upon  him.  He 
■ays  to  himself :  "  The  character  of  the  units  determines 
the  character  of  the  aggregata  A  nation  made  up  of 
units  like  this  must  be  on  the  whole  a  tolerably  decent 
one."  And  it  influences  his  policy.  You  must  notice  for 
your'^elf  he's  less  distrustful  of  us  than  formerly.' 

The  Goneral  leaned  back  in  his  round  office  chair, 
neatly  paddrd  in  brown  leather,  stamped  with  the 
imperial  arms,  and  surveyed  her  critically. 

No  wonder  a  statesman  who  accepted  Madame  Mireff 
as  the  typical  Bussian  should  think  well  of  the  country 
whose  tangible  embodiment  and  representative  she  pro- 
claimed herself.  For  a  handsomer  ripe  woman  of  forty- 
five  you  wouldn't  wish  to  see  anywhere  than  Olga  Mireff. 
Her  figure  was  full  and  round,  yet  not  too  tvJl  or  toe 
round  for  the  most  fastidious  taste ;  her  charms  were 
mature,  yet  all  the  richer  for  their  maturity.  An  intelH- 
gent,  earnest,  enthusiastic  face,  great  child-Uke  eyes,  a 
■weet  and  generous  smile,  rare  beauty  of  feature,  rare 
naivete  of  expression — aU  these  went  to  the  making 
up  of  a  most  engaging  personality.  Her  hands  were 
plump  but  soft  and  white  and  dimpled.  Her  motions 
were  slow,  but  they  quickened  with  animation,  and 
grew  positively  mercurial  under  the  influence  of  en- 
thusiasm. 


Tvi 


I 


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V'i. 


UNDER  SBAUtD  ORDERS 


^  i 


I 
If 


The  Tery  woman,  General  Selistoff  thought  to  himself, 
to  twist  roond  her  fingers,  as  she  said,  a  clever  and 
impressionable  Foreign  Secretary  like  Lord  Caistor. 
Alexis  Seiistofif  had  never  had  a  better  made  instrumeob 
to  work  with.  This  little  wedge  of  feminine  insinuation 
Blight  enable  him  in  time  to  permeate  the  whole  inert 
mass  of  English  opinion. 

The  General  paused,  and  fingered  hii  waxed 
moastache. 

'And  yon  go  back  again  to-morrow 7*  he  said^  still 
inrveying  her  with  approbation. 

Madame  Mireff  nodded  assent. 

*  Unless  you  wish  it  otherwise,'  she  answered ;  '  I  am 
yours  to  command.  But  if  you  see  no  objection — then  to 
London  to-morrow.' 

The  man  of  politics  shrugged  his  ihoulders.  They 
were  broad  and  well  set. 

*  Oh,  as  for  my  wishes,  cJUre  dame,*  he  said,  with  an 
air  of  official  disclaimer,  '  you  know  very  well  they  have 
■othing  at  all  to  do  with  the  matter.  You  are  not,  and 
never  were,  an  agent  of  the  Government.  If  you  drop  in 
here  for  a  chat  with  me,  in  a  moment  of  leisure,  you 
drop  in  as  a  friend — nothing  more,  bien  entendu.  Some 
little  relaxation,  some  little  interlude  of  the  charms  of 
female  society,  may  surely  be  allowed  us  in  a  life  so 
monotonous  and  so  deadly  dull  as  this  eternal  routine  of 
ours.  I  sign  my  own  name  on  an  average  three  hundred 
and  seventy-four  times  per  diem.  But  as  to  business, 
business,  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  that.  La  haute 
politique  is  not  a  lady's  a£Fair.  Tape,  dockets,  files, 
pigeon-holes,  those  are  administration,  if  you  will ;  but  a 
visit  to  England  by  an  unauthorized  Bussian  lady ' — he 
gazed  at  her  hard — 'mere  private  gadding.  Disabuse 
your  mind  as  to  that,  Madame,  disabuse  your  mind  as  to 
that,  though  I  know  you  don't  even  need  to  be  told  to 
disabuse  yourself.' 

Madame  Mirefi's  smile  as  he  spoke  those  words  was  a 
■tudy  in  complexity.  It  contained  in  itself  four  or  five 
■miles  superposed,  in  distinct  strata,  and  one  of  them, 
perhaps,  would  have  surprised  General  Selistoff  not  a 
little,  had  he  known  its  full  import     But  Madame 


FAMILY  BUSINESS 


didn't  enlighten  him  on  that  abstruse  point.    She  only 
answered  submissively : 

'  I'm  well  aware  of  those  facts,  General.  My  one 
object  in  life  is  to  serve  my  country  and  my  Czar,  unob- 
trusively and  unofficially,  by  such  simple  private  influence 
as  a  mere  woman  can  exert  in  a  foreign  capital' 

Though  Madame  knew  very  well  in  her  own  heart  that 
a  Eussian  lady  would  never  be  permitted  to  exercise 
influence  on  English  poUtics,  directly  or  indirectly,  in 
whatever  capacity,  unless  it  suited  the  Government  she 
should  unofficially  represent  it.  And  so,  too,  did  General 
SeUstoff.  Had  it  been  otherwise,  no  passport  at  the 
Tery  least — perhaps  even  imprisonment,  the  mines, 
Siberia. 

They  looked  at  one  another  and  smiled  again,  with 
their  tongues  in  their  cheeks,  mentally  speaking,  like  the 
Roman  augurs  when  they  met  in  private.  Then  the 
General  spoke  again : 

'  And  Prince  Euric  Brassoff?'  he  said,  with  an  ugly 
frown  on  his  high  bronzed  forehead ;  '  still  no  trace  of 
him  anywhere  ?  You  haven't  one  hope  of  a  due  ?  How 
that  man  eludes  us !' 

'  No,'  Madame  Mireff  answered  demurely,  laying  one 
plump  hand  with  resignation  over  the  other,  and  shaking  a 
solemn  head.  '  He  eludes  us  still.  How  can  you  hope 
to  catch  him  ?  I  feel  convinced  even  his  own  associates 
don't  know  where  he  is.  I've  made  every  inquiry.  The 
man  works  like  a  mole  underground,  popping  up  here 
and  there  for  a  moment  to  take  breath,  as  it  were,  or  not 
even  that.  He's  invisible  and  incalculable.  Nobody 
ever  sees  him,  nobody  ever  talks  with  him ;  only  written 
messages  flutter  down  now  and  again  from  the  sky,  or 
from  unknown  sources,  bearing  an  Egyptian  postmark, 
it  may  be,  or  a  Maltese,  or  c,  Norwegian,  or  a  Sicilian. 
They're  not  even  in  his  own  hand,  they  say — not  the 
bulk  of  the  document.  Only  the  signature's  hia ;  the 
rest's  type-written,  or  copied  by  an  amanuensis,  or  dic- 
tated, or  in  cipher.  His  subordinates  have  nothing  to 
go  upon  but  those  two  mysterious  words,  "Euric  Brassofi^" 
at  the  bottom  of  an  order.  But  they  obey  it  as  implicitly 
as  if  it  foil  upon  them  from  heaven.    Most  of  them  hav« 


'11 


^i  )■: 


'I 


i  '■ 


It 


1 1 


*  UNDBK  8BAI,ED  ORDERS 

uerer  tet  eyes  upon  the  man  himself  in  their  lives  at  all ; 
nobody  on  earth  has  set  eyes  upon  him  for  ten  years 
past ;  yet  there  he  is  still,  wrapped  in  the  clouds  as  it 
were,  but  pulling  all  the  strings  just  as  clearly  as  ever. 
It's  a  most  mysterious  case.  Though,  after  all,  as  a 
diplomat,  one  can  hardly  help  admiring  him.' 

General  Selistoff  looked  up  sharply  at  her  in  a  surprised 
■ort  of  way,  Born  bureaucrat  that  he  was,  he  couldn't 
understand  how  anyone  could  admire  even  the  cleverest 
and  most  audacious  of  rebels. 

•Well,  that's  a  matter  of  opinion,'  he  said  slowly, 
pressing  his  thumb  very  tight  on  the  edge  of  his  desk. 

•  For  my  part,  if  I'd  Euric  Brassoffs  neck  under  here  this 
minute — ^  -'  The  thumb  was  raised  for  one  second 
and  then  squeezed  down  again  significantly.  General 
Selistoff  paused  once  more.  His  eyes  looked  away  into 
the  abysses  of  space.  'Buric  Brassoff,'  he  repeated 
slowly,  '  Rurio  Brassoff,  Euric  Brassoff.  If  only  we  could 
oatoh  that  one  single  man,  we  wouldn't  take  long  to 
erush  out  the  whole  infernal  conspiracy.' 

'  You  think  so  ?'  Madame  inquired,  looking  up. 

*  He's  its  head,'  the  bureaucrat  answered  impatiently. 
'  No  organization  on  earth  can  possibly  go  on  when  it's 
head's  cut  off.' 

And  he  had  had  experience,  too,  in  the  results  of 
decapitation. 

'  We  got  on  somehow  after  our  late  beloved  Czar  was 
murdered  by  these  wretches,'  Madame  put  in,  very 
gravely. 

The  General  sat  up  stift  He  didn't  like  this  turn. 
Twas  beneath  him  to  bandy  words  and  arguments  with 
a  woman. 

'  Well,  you'll  not  relax  your  efforts,  at  any  rate,'  he 
said,  more  coldly,  *  to  get  some  clue  to  Prince  Eurio 
Brassoffs  whereabouts.  Eemember,  five  hundred  thou- 
sand roubles  and  the  title  of  Princess.  Ceaseless 
vigilance  is  our  only  resource.  Leave  no  stone  unturned. 
Under  one  or  other  of  them,  we  know,  must  lurk  tha 
Morpion  that  bit  us.' 

*  True/  Madame  answered,  relapsing  into  purs  sib- 
wussiveness,  for  she  saw  it  was  wisest. 


VAMILT  BUSINESS 


*  And  there's  one  other  point  I  want  to  snggest  to  yon,* 
the  General  went  on,  somewhat  mollified.     '  A  very 

fainful  point ;  but  I  must  bring  myself  to  speak  of  it. 
've  often  thought  of  mentioning  it  to  you,  dear  Madame, 
before,  and  when  it  came  to  the  point  I've  always  beea 
naturally  reluctant.'  He  dropped  his  voice  suddenly, 
*  You'U  understand  why,'  he  went  on, '  when  I  tell  you  it 
relates  to  my  unhappy  and  misguided  brother,  Sergiui 
SelistoE' 

Madame  Mireff  bowed  her  head  with  a  sympathetio 
inclination.  She  let  a  rhetorical  pause  of  some  seconds 
elapse  before  she  answered  the  General,  whose  own  eyes 
fell  abashed,  as  is  natural  when  one  mentions  some  dis- 
graceful episode  in  one's  family  history.  Then  she  mur- 
mured in  a  lower  key : 

'I  understand  perfectly.  I  never  expected  to  hear 
that  name  mentioned  in  this  room  again,  and  unless  you 
had  brought  it  up  yourself,  you  can  readily  belieTO, 
Excellency,  I  wouldn't  have  dared  to  allude  to  it.' 

'No,  no,'  the  General  continued,  forcing  himself  to 
speak  with  difficulty.  'But  I'm  anxious  to  find  out 
something  about  his  family  and  affairs,  and  you're  tha 
only  person  on  earth,  dear  Madame,  to  whose  hands  I 
could  endure  to  confide  the  inquiry.  To  no  one  else 
but  yourself  could  I  bricg  myself  to  speak  about  it. 
Sergius  had  a  boy,  you  know — in  fact,  two  children,  a 
boy  and  a  girl.  Before  he  was  sent  Lo  Siberia,  after  his 
treachery  become  known,'  and  the  old  bureaucrat  spoke 
like  one  weighed  down  with  shame,  '  those  children  were 
spirited  away  somehow  out  of  the  country.  You  know 
their  history,  I  suppose.  You  know  the  oircumstanoei 
of  that  unfortunate  marriage.' 

*  Not  in  full,'  Madame  answered,  all  respectful  sym- 
athy.     'And  when  one's  engaged  on  a  matter  of  the 
and  it's  best,  of  course,  to  know  all.    I've  only  heard 
that  Sergius  Selistoff  married  an  English  woman.' 

The  General  bowed  his  head  once  more. 

'  Yes,  an  English  woman,'  he  answered.  *  But  that*! 
not  all.  A  public  singer  at  Vienna,  who,  as  wa  have 
reason  to  believe,  for  her  family's  sake  sang  under  aa 
assumed  name,  and  whose  relations  in  England  we*?^ 


!; 


I 


i 


■to't 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


le 


neter  been  able  to  trace  since  Sergius went  to  th« 

fate  reserved  for  traitora.  On  the  morning  when  the 
adminietrativo  order  was  issued  from  this  office  for  my 
brother's  arrest — I  signed  it  myself — Madame  Selistoff 
and  the  children  disappeared  from  Petersburg  as  if  by 
magic.  My  sister-in-law,  as  you  must  have  heard,  was 
discovered,  raving  mad,  a  few  weeks  later,  in  the  streets 
of  Wilna,  though  how  or  why  she  got  there  nobody  even 
knew,  and  from  that  day  till  her  death,  some  seven 
months  afterwards,  she  did  nothing  but  cry  that  her 
children  at  least  must  be  saved :  her  children  at  least 
must  get  away  safe  from  that  awfui  place  to  England.' 

The  old  man  stroked  his  moustache. 

•It  was  terrible,'  he  said  slowly  —  'terrible  what 
suffering  Sergius  brought  upon  us  all,  and  on  that  un- 
happy woman.' 

'  It  was  terrible  indeed/  Madame  Mireff  answered, 
with  a  look  of  genuine  horror. 

'  Well,  what  I  want  just  now,'  the  General  continued, 
rising  up  in  all  the  height  of  his  great  Russian  figure, 
and  going  to  a  little  cupboard,  from  which  he  brought 
forth  a  small  bundle  of  brown  and  dusty  papers — '  what 
I  want  just  now  is  that  you  should  find  out  for  me  in 
England  whether  those  children  are  there  still,  and  in 
whose  keeping.' 

'  Perfectly,'  Madame  answered.  '  You  wish,  perhaps, 
to  be  of  service  to  the  boy — to  bring  your  brother's  sou 
back  to  Russia  again,  give  him  the  rank  of  a  SelistoSf, 
and  make  bim  a  loyal  subject  of  our  beloved  Emperor.* 

The  old  man  brought  his  fist  down  on  his  desk  with 
a  resounding  blow. 

'  No,  no  I'  ho  cried  fiercely,  his  face  lighting  up  with 
indignation.  *  Ten  thousand  times  no ;  I  renounce 
Sergius  Selistoff  and  all  his  works  for  ever.  .  .  .  The 
hoy's  no  nephew  of  mine — no  trne-born  Selistoff — an 
English  half-breed  by  a  rebel  father.  I'd  send  him  to 
the  mines,  as  I  sent  my  brother  before  him,  if  only  I 
•ould  catioh  him.  As  Sergius  died,  so  his  son  should  die 
in  turn.  ...  A  Selistcff,  did  you  say  ?  Our  blood  dis- 
owns the  whole  brood  of  the  traitor.' 

'I  Bee,'  Madame  answered,  With  trut^  Russian  iui 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ENCOUNTER 


69 


paasiTeness.  Not  %  muscle  of  her  face  moved.  Not  a 
quiver  passed  over  her.  Only  the  long,  black  lashes 
drooped  above  the  great  childlike  eyes.  '  And  yoi:  want 
me  to  find  r  t  where  they're  living  now?  Well,  if  any- 
body in  England  can  track  them,  I  can  promise  it  will 
be  I,  Names,  ages,  and  descriptions — I  see  you  have 
iLrnr  there  all  pat  in  your  dossier.' 

The  General  undid  the  bundle  with  an  unwonted 
trembling  in  those  iron  fingers.  Then  he  stretched  out 
the  papers  before  Madame  MirefPs  keen  eyes. 

'  Alexandra,  aged  four  at  the  time  of  her  flight,  would 
now  be  twenty-five,  or  thereabouts,'  he  said,  quivering. 
'  Sergius,  a  baby  in  arms,  would  be  between  twenty  and 
twenty-one.  Here,  you  see,  are  their  descriptions  and 
such  details  as  we  could  recover  of  the  mother's  family. 
But  it  was  a  misalliance,  you  must  understand,  for  a 
Bussian  nobleman — a  complete  mesalliance.  She  gave 
her  name  at  the  ceremony  as  Auiora  Montmorency,  but 
we  believe  it  to  have  been  false  and  we  don't  know  the 
real  one.  Your  business  will  be  only  to  hunt  up  these 
people  ;  miiie,  to  crush  them,  when  found,  as  one  would 
crush  beneath  one's  heel  a  brood  of  young  vipers.' 

•  Perfectly,'  Madame  answered,  with  a  charming  smile. 
'  I  understand  my  mission,  Excellency.  I  will  obey  your 
initrootions.' 


if 


CHAPTER  X 

AN  UNEXPECTED  ENOCUKTXB. 

And  while  In  St.  Petersburg,  General  Selistofif  was  utter- 
ing those  words  to  his  trusted  associate,  on  the  mountain 
^ath  near  Beni-Mengella,  in  Morocco,  Mr.  Hayward  was 
exclaiming  enthusii  stically  to  Owen  Cazalet :  '  It's  a 
glorious  work,  my  boy,  and  it's  laid  upon  you  in  due 
course  by  your  glorious  inheritance.' 

'  And  yet,'  Owen  murmured,  musing,  •  it'i  a  terribla 
one,  too,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it.' 

Mr.  Hayward  eyed  Irim  hard  with  a  quiok,  halfnitartled 
air. 


'M 


' 


i|  VNDBR  8BALED  0RDBA8 

*  Yes,  terrible  certainly/  he  answered,  with  the  rapt 
%ir  of  a  prophet,  '  but  inevitable,  for  aU  that — a  stern 
duty  imposed  upon  you  by  your  birth  and  training. 
Consider,  Owen,  not  only  that  unhappy  country,  a  bruto 
bulk,  bearing,  half  loath,  upon  her  myriad  shoulders  the 
burden  of  one  miserable  horror-haunted  man — the  most 
wretched  of  mankind — but  your  own  part  in  it  as  well, 
your  own  calling  and  election  to  avenge  and  assist  her. 
Bemember  your  father,  sent  to  sicken  and  die  by  inches 
in  a  Siberian  mine  ;  remember  your  mother,  driiven  mad 
in  the  streets  of  Wilna  in  her  frantic  endea^oura  to  ca'-iy 
you  and  her  daughter  in  safety  beyond  the  Bussian 
frontier.  AU  these  things  the  Eomanoft's  have  dono  to 
you  and  yours  in  your  very  own  household.  What 
justice  can  there  be  for  them  except  in  the  angry 
vengeance  of  their  outraged  sorfa?  On  you  falls  that 
honour.  You  are  summoned  to  this  great  work.  You 
should  accept  it  with  pride,  with  gratitude,  with  aspira- 
tion.' 

*  So  I  do,'  Owen  answered,  a  feeling  of  sham©  breaking 
over  him  like  a  wave  at  even  so  transient  an  expression 
of  doubt  and  hesitancy.  '  Trust  me,  Mr.  Hay  ward,  I 
will  be  ready  when  the  time  comes.  Don't  fear  tor  my 
fidelity.     I  won't  fail  you  in  the  struggle.' 

And,  indeed,  that  manly  young  Englishman,  for  such 
in  all  essentials  he  was,  really  meant  it  and  felt  it.  Not 
for  nothing  had  Mr.  Hay  ward  taken  cliarge  of  his  youth. 
and  slowly  by  tentative  degrees,  a^  he  found  his  pupil'ti 
mind  ripe  for  change,  instilled  into  him  all  tho  piiiioiplebi 
of  the  liorcest  Eussian  Nihilism.  Everything  ho.d  worked 
with  that  cheery,  vigoi-ous,  enthusiastic  English  lad  in 
the  direction  of  accepbing  the  faith  thus  iorcv.d  upon  him. 
His  reverence  for  Mr.  Hayward,  at  once  the  ;.,uniie8t  and 
most  powerful  mind  he  had  ever  known  ;  his  horror  at 
the  fate  of  his  own  father  and  mother  ;  his  native  love  of 
freedom,  of  individuality,  of  adventure ;  iiia  sterling 
English  honesty  of  purpose ;  hia  inherited  Eussian 
fatalistic  tendency — all  led  him  alike  to  embrace  with 
fervour  the  strange  career  Mr.  Hayward  sketched  out 
for  his  future.  Nihihsui  Iiad  become  to  him  a  veritable 
Mligioii.    Re  had  grown  up  to  it  from  hi»  cradle ;  ho  hud 


AN  UNEXPIiCTED  ENCOUNTER 


^ 


heard  of  it  only  from  the  lips  of  its  adherents ;  he  had  been 
taught  to  regard  it  as  the  one  remaining  resource  of  an 
innocent  people  ground  down  to  the  very  earth  by  an 
intolerable  tyranny.  So  it  came  to  pass  that  Owen 
Cazalet,  who,  from  one  point  of  view,  as  his  friends  and 
companions  saw  him  at  Moor  Hill,  was  nothing  more 
than  a  strong  and  pleasing  athletic  young  Englishman, 
was,  from  another  point  of  view,  by  Mr.  Hayward's  side, 
a  convinced  and  unflinching  Eussian  Nihilist. 

All  day  they  rode  on  across  the  volcanic  hills ; 
towards  evening  they  reached  the  dubious  village  of 
Beni-Mengella,  whose  inhabitants  even  their  tolerant 
Moorish  servant  had  described  to  them  as  very  devout 
and  fanatical  Mohammedans.  At  the  outskirts  of  the 
hamlet  three  Berbers,  clad  each  in  a  single  loose  white 
robe,  not  much  differing  from  a  nightshirt,  met  them  full 
in  the  path. 

'  Peace  be  with  you,'  Mr.  Hayward  cried  out,  accosting 
them  in  the  usual  Moslem  formula. 

'  Peace  be  with  all  true  believers,*  the  men  answered 
in  a  surly  tone. 

The  alteration  was  significant.  It  meant  that  even  the 
protection  of  the  Serene  Shereefian  Umbrella  didn't  en- 
title such  open  rebels  against  the  will  of  Allah  to  peace 
in  that  village. 

'  This  is  ominous,*  Mr.  Hayward  muttered  quietly  to 
Owen.  *  We  may  have  trouble  here.  These  men  refuse  to 
give  UB  peace  as  we  pass.  That  always  :  jeans  in  Islam 
more  or  less  chance  of  danger.' 

*  So  much  the  better,'  Owen  thought  to  himself,  red- 
dening visibly  with  excitement. 

They  rode  on  in  silence  up  to  the  amine's  house.  A 
handsome  young  Moor,  in  an  embroidered  jacket,  lounged 
in  a  graceful  attitude  against  the  richly-carved  doorpoKt. 
He  started  as  they  approached,  and  then  burst  into  a 
merry  laugh.     But — the  laugh  was  long's  1 

*  Well,  this  is  odd,'  the  8trt«nger  cried  aloud  in  Eng- 
lish, in  a  very  feminine  voice,  '  You  said  you  were 
going  to  Ouarzin.  You  changed  your  minds  suddenly. 
What  on  earth  brought  you  on  here  ?' 

'Well — yei;  we  changed  our  minds,'  Mr.  Hayward 


h 


k\\ 


m 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


answered,  with  a  slight  stammer,  looking  decidedly 
ebeepish ;  *  we  altered  our  route  when  we  reached  the 
fork  in  the  roads.  We  heard  .  .  .  this  village  was  mow 
likely  to  afford  us  something  really  good  in  the  way  of 
adventure.  But  you  ?  we've  fair  reason  to  question  you 
as  well.  Didn't  you  tell  us  this  morning  you  meant  to 
sleep  at  Taourist  ?' 

lone  laughed  once  more  that  merry  musical  laugh  of 
hers,  and  tossed  her  fluffy  hair  off  her  ears  at  the  same 
time  with  an  easy  movement  of  her  head. 

'  What  fun  !'  she  cried,  delighted  at  the  absurd  contre- 
temps, in  spite  of  herself.  '  Why,  I  came  here,  if  you 
must  know,  on  purpose  to  avoid  you.  Not  out  of  rude- 
ness, vou  understand ;  if  it  were  in  England,  now,  I'd 
have  been  most  pleased  to  accept  your  kind  com- 
panionship. But,  you  see,  I've  come  out  here  all  this 
way  to  do  this  journey  alone ;  the  whole  point  of  ifc 
naturally  consists  in  my  riding  through  Morocco  by  my- 
self in  native  clothes,  and  perhaps  getting  killed  on  the 
way — which  would  be  awfully  romantic.  So,  of  course, 
if  I'd  allowed  you  to  come  on  with  me,  or  to  follow  me 
up,  it'd  have  spoilt  the  game ;  there'd  have  been  no  riding 
alone ;  it'd  have  been  a  personally  conducted  tour,  just 
the  same  as  the  Cookies.  Well,  that  made  me  turn  off 
at  a  tangent  to  Beni-Mengella,  for  I  thought  perhaps  you 
two  men  might  be  afraid  to  let  me  go  on  by  myself,  or 
might  go  ahead  to  Taourist  on  purpose  to  make  sure  I 
got  into  no  trouble.  And  that,  you  must  see  for  your- 
selves, would  have  put  an  end  at  once  to  my  independence 
The  value  of  this  experiment  consists  entirely  in  my 
going  through  Morocco  alone  on  my  own  hired  horse,  and 
coming  out  alive  and  unhurt  at  the  other  end  of  it,' 

Mr.  Hayward  gazed  at  her  with  a  somewhat  comical 
ruefulness. 

'  It  is  unfortunate,'  he  said  slowly.  '  But  we  must  put 
up  with  it  now.  I'm  sorry  we've  incommoded  you.  It's 
too  late  to  go  anywhere  else  at  this  hour,  I'm  afraid,  even 
if  there  were  anywhere  else  in  the  neighbourhood  to 
go  to.' 

'  Oh,  well,  now  you're  here,'  lonfi  answered  with  good- 
hismoored  oondescensiou,  '  y^u  may  as  well  stay,  for. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ENCOUNTSa  •? 

after  all,  we  had  a  very  jolly  evening  together  yesterday 
at  Ain-Essa,  hadn't  we  ?  Besides,  you  know,  it's  luciy 
for  you  in  some  ways  I'm  here ;  for  I  can  tell  you  these 
are  just  about  the  liveliest  and  most  aggressive  Moham- 
medans I've  met  anywhere  yet ;  they're  war  to  the  knifo 
on  infidels,  and  if  you'd  come  among  them  alone — with- 
oc.t  a  lady  to  protect  you,  I  mean — I  believe  they'd  have 
murdered  you  as  soon  as  look  at  you.  One  or  two  of 
them  seemed  half  inclined  at  first  to  doubt  about  the 
propriety  of  murdering  even  me;  but  they've  got  over 
that  now ;  I've  made  things  all  square  with  them.  I've 
repeated  enough  verses  from  the  Koran  to  satisfy  the 
amine  himself  aa  to  my  perfect  orthodoxy;  and  I've 
Mash-Allah'd  till  I'm  hoarse  at  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  in  the  village.  Besides,  I've  made  up  to  the  mollah 
of  the  mosque.  If  I  say  to  him,  "  These  are  friends  of 
mine,"  not  a  soul  in  the  place  will  dare  to  touch  you.* 

As  for  Owen,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Hayward's  warnings,  he 
aidn't  pretend  to  conceal  from  himself  the  obvious  fact 
that  he  was  very  glad  indeed  to  come  again  upon  lond. 
Not  wholly  from  the  point  of  view  of  personal  liking, 
either — he  had  a  better  reason  than  that,  a  more  serious 
reason.  It  was  a  point  of  honour.  Their  last  few  words 
together  at  Ain-Essa,  where  they  had  spent  the  previous 
night,  had  left  an  abiding  sense  of  terror  on  his  inmost 
soul.  Nobody  but  lonS  Dracopoli  had  ever  suggested  in 
his  hearing  the  fatal  idea  that  Mr.  Hayward  was  a 
Bussian.  And  he  hadn't  had  time  to  impress  upon  her 
in  full  (before  he  left)  the  profound  necessity  of  keeping 
that  idea  a  secret.  All  day  long  his  conscience  had  been 
pricking  him  for  that  unwilling  disclosure.  Had  he  as- 
sented too  openly?  Had  he  betrayed  Mr.  Hayward's 
trust  by  too  easy  an  acquiescence  ?  He'd  been  longing 
every  hour  of  that  tedious  march  for  the  cnance  of  seeing 
lond  alone  onoe  more,  to  beg  her  to  keep  silence ;  and 
now  that  chance  had  come  he  was  profoundly  grateful 
for  it.  To  him  the  suspense  had  in  many  ways  been  a 
terrible  one. 

He  had  never  had  a  secret  from  Mr.  Hayward  in  )  Js 
life  before.  That  feeling  of  itself  gave  hiiu  a  sense  of 
guilt.     But  he  couldn't  pluck  up  courage  to  make  a  clean 


68 


UNDER  SEALED  ORJERS 


i       li 


breast  of  it,  either.  Mr.  Hayward  would  think  he  might 
have  parried  the  thrust  better.  To  say  the  truth,  he 
was  ashamed  to  let  his  guardian  see  the  painful  fact 
that  a  girl  had  got  the  best  of  him  'n  a  very  brief 
encounter. 

Mr.  Hayward  strolled  into  the  guest-house  to  arrange 
about  accommodation.  While  he  was  gone  Owen  was 
left  alone  at  the  door  for  one  minute  with  lon^.  There 
was  no  time  to  be  lost.  He  must  seize  the  opportunity. 
Such  a  chance  to  speak  might  not  occur  again.  Muster- 
ing up  all  his  courage  suddenly  (for  he  was  a  bashful 
young  man),  he  turned  to  her  at  once,  and  said,  in  a  very 
earnest  tone : 

'  Miss  Dracopoli,  I  thar.k  heaven  I've  met  you  again. 
I  wanted — I  needed — I  required  one  word  more  with  you. 
I  daren't  tell  you  why.  To  do  that  would  be  a  crime. 
But  I  want  you  to  promise  me  as  faithfully  as  you  can 
you'll  never  mention  to  anybody  your  suspicion  that  Mr 
Hay  ward's  a  Eussian.  It  might  be  death  to  him  if  it 
were  known,  and  death  to  me,  too.  I've  no  time  to  ex- 
plain more.  He  mustn't  come  out  and  see  me  talking  to 
you  so.  But,  for  heaven's  sake,  I  beg  of  you,  promise 
me — dc  promise  me  you'll  never  mention  the  matter  ai 
long  as  you  live  to  anyone.' 

He  spoke  with  concentrated  earnestness,  like  one  who 
really  means  most  profoundly  what  he  says.  lon^ 
glanced  at  him  for  a  minute,  half  in  doubt,  half  in  amuse- 
ment, with  those  big,  laughing  eyes  of  hers.  She  didn't 
quite  know  whether  to  take  it  as  a  very  good  joke  or  not. 
Most  things  in  life  were  very  good  jokes  to  lonfi.  Then 
she  sobered  down  suddenly. 

'  Why — this — is — Nihilism,'  she  said,  word  by  word, 
in  a  very  surprised  voice.  '  No  wonder  you're  alarmed. 
Yes,  this  is— just— Nihilism.  But  you  needn't  be  afraid, 
Owen  Cazalet.  I  give  you  my  promise.  I'll  never  say  a 
word  of  it  as  long  as  I  live  to  anyone.' 

She  spoke  now  as  seriously  as  he  had  spoken  himselt 
She  said  it,  and  she  meant  it.  In  a  moment  the  laughing 
girl  saw  the  full  magnitude  of  the  is  me  at  stake,  and  for 
once  was  sobered.  Owen  glanced  at  her  timidly,  and 
their  eyes  met  again. 


AS  miBZPBCTSD  BNCOVNTmi 


*» 


timid  ^ioe. 


*  Thank  you,'  he  said,  very  low  in  a  very 
•Ten  thousand  times,  thank  you.' 

'  But  what's  his  Bussian  name  V  lond  asked  after  a 
brief  pause,  half  coaxingly,  and  with  true  feminine 
curiosity.  'You  might  tell  me  that,  now.  You've  a& 
good  as  admitted  it.' 

'Ah,  but  I  don't  know  it  I'  Owen  answered  very 
earnestly,  without  one  second's  hesitation.  'I  haven't 
heard  it  myself.    He's  never  once  told  me.' 

His  voice  had  a  ring  of  truth  in  it.  lone  felt  sure  from 
its  tone  he  meant  just  whab  he  said.  She  gazed  at  hirn 
curiously  once  more. 

*  Never  a  word  of  it  to  anyone,'  she  repeated,  with 
Bolemn  assurance,  wringing  his  hand  in  her  own.  '  I'll 
cut  my  tongue  out  first,  for  I  see  you  mean  it.' 

At  that  moment,  as  she  spoke,  Mr.  Hayward's  face 
loomed  up  at  the  far  end  of  the  passage  from  the 
i}Ourtyard  inside.  long  saw  it  and  was  wise.  She  let 
Owen's  hand  drop  suddenly. 

'  And  Buoh  a  funny  old  Moor  with  a  green  turban 
on  his  head,'  she  went  on  quite  loud,  in  her  gayest  and 
most  natural  voice,  as  if  continuing  a  conversation  on 
Bome  perfectly  banal  point,  '  you  never  saw  in  your 
life.  He  was  fat  and  dark,  and  had  a  mole  on  his 
forehead,  and  he  called  Allah  to  witness  at  every 
second  word  he  was  letting  me  have  that  horse  dirt 
cheap  for  my  beautiful  eyes,  at  rather  less  than  half  its 
yalue.' 

'They're  dreadful  old  cheats,'  Owen  echoed  in  the 
same  voice;  but  he  felt,  all  the  same,  most  horribly 
ashamed  of  himself. 

These  petty  social  deceits  sit  much  heavier  on  U3 
men  than  on  the  lips  of  women,  where  they  spring 
■pontaneous.  And  it  cut  him  to  the  heart  to  think  iiu 
was  employing  such  mean  feminine  wiles  against  Mr. 
Haywaro. 

Ait&e  that  night,  He  thought  to  himself  bitterly,  he'd 
take  veiy  good  care  never  to  meet  lono  Dracopoli  any- 
whare  again.  Though,  to  be  sure,  she  was  the  nicest 
girl  he'd  ever  met  in  his  life,  and  the  freest  in  tlu3 
true  e«^nse  of  all  he  admired  in  freedom.      But  still — 


/  ! 


n\ 


!: 


TO 


UNDER  SEAI^ED  ORDERS 


the  cause !  the  cause  I-  for  the  sake  of  the  cause  he'd 
avoid  her  like  poison.     She  was  a  dangerous  woman. 

More  dangerous  even  than  he  knew  ;  for  of  all  possible 
links  to  bind  a  man  and  a  woman  together  for  life, 
almost  in  spite  of  themselves,  commend  me  to  a  secret 
shared  in  common. 


CHAPTEB  XI. 


M 


MAN   PBOPOBBB. 

That  night  at  Beni-Mengella  was  Owen's  last  meeting 
with  lone  Dracopoli  in  Morocco,  and  he  enjoyed  it 
immensely.  All  through  the  evening,  indeed,  lone  was 
as  gay,  as  communicative,  as  frankly  confidential,  as  she 
had  been  at  Ain-Essa ;  Owen  even  fancied  she  was 
possibly  pleased  to  meet  him  again ;  but  if  so,  it  was  a 
pleasure  she  didn't  desire  to  let  pall  by  too  frequent 
repetition,  for  next  morning,  after  their  native  breakfast 
of  fried  cakes  and  cous-cous,  lone  turned  one  merry 
forefinger  uplifted  to  Mr.  Hayward. 

'  Now,  mind,'  Lhe  said  imperiously,  '  this  time,  no 
reconsiderations.  First  thoughts  are  best.  Tell  me  your 
tour,  and  I'll  tell  you  mine.  Let's  hold  by  them  rigidly. 
You  stick  to  yours,  and  I'll  stick  to  my  own ;  then  we 
won't  go  running  up  against  one  another,  head  foremost, 
like  the  people  in  a  farce — exit  Mr.  Hayward  and  Owen 
Cazalet  left,  enter  lone  Dracopoli,  E.U.E.,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.     I  want  to  be  able  to  say  I  rode  through 

kiver  to  kiver."  I've  almost  done 
evenings  will  bring  me  down  to 
this  is  my  route  as  far  as  one  can 
are  no  proper  maps.'  And  she 
unfolded  Joseph  Thomson's  rough  chart  of  the  Atlaa 
range  before  him,  and  indicated,  as  far  as  possible,  with 
one  plump,  white  finger,  the  general  idea  of  her  future 
stopping-places. 

Mr.  Hayward  acquiesced,  and  took  the  opposite 
direction.  For  his  own  part,  if  Ion6  were  anxious  to 
avoid  him,  he  was  ten  times  more  anxious  to  avoid  loua 


Morocco  alone  "  from 
it  now.     Five  or  six 
Mogador.     Look  here  ; 
trace  it,  where  there 


MAN  PROPOSES 


Of  the  two  toun,  therefore,  the  independent  young 
lady's  was  finished  first.  Mr.  Hayward  and  Owen  were 
still  riding  slowly  up  steep  mule-paths  of  the  mountaini 
in  the  interior  long  after  lone  had  changed  her  Turkish 
trousers  and  her  embroidered  Moorish  jacket  for  the 
tailor-made  robe  of  Eegent  Street  and  Piccadilly.  As  to 
Owen's  later  feats  in  the  Atlas,  I  shall  say  no  more  of 
them  here.  The  untrodden  peaks  that  he  climbed,  the 
steep  cliffs  that  he  scaled,  the  strange  insects  he  dis- 
covered, the  rare  plants  he  brought  home — how  he  with- 
stood the  nati^^es  at  the  shrine  of  Sidi  Salah  of  the  High 
Peak — how  he  insisted  on  photographing  the  Mosque  of 
Abd-er-Eahman,  with  the  Two  Tombs  in  the  chief  seat  of 
Moslem  fanaticism  in  the  far  interior — are  they  not  all 
written  with  appropriate  photogravures  in  Hayward's 
'  Mountaineering  in  Southern  Morocco '  ?  Who  lists  may 
read  them  there.  For  the  purposes  of  this  present  history 
they  have  no  further  importance ;  enough  to  say  that  at 
the  end  of  two  weeks  Owen  Gazalet  returned  by  the 
Cunard  steamer  to  London,  a  travelled  man,  and  an 
authority  on  the  vexed  points  of  Atlantic  topography. 

Immediately  on  his  return,  Sacha  met  him  at  Euston 
with  important  news.  A  domestic  revolution  had 
occurred  at  Moor  Hill  during  his  short  absence.  Sacha 
met  him  at  once  with  unusual  excitement  for  that  placid 
nature. 

'  You  mustn't  go  down  to  auntie's  to-night,'  she  said, 
as  soon  as  he  stepped  on  to  the  platform  ;  '  you  must 
come  to  my  lodgings  and  sleep.  I  want  to  have  a  good 
long  taUc  with  you  as  soon  as  possible,  Owen ;  I've  such 
lots  of  things  to  tell  you.' 

*  Your  lodgings  1*  Owen  cried,  astonished.  *  You're  in 
rooms  up  in  town,  then  ?    Why,  how's  that,  Sacha  ?' 

*  Oh,  it's  a  long  story  to  tell,*  Sacha  answered,  some- 
what flushed  herself  out  of  her  wonted  composure. 
'  You  see  you're  six  weeks  in  arrears.  We  haven't  beep 
able  to  write  to  you.  And  ever  so  many  queer  things 
have  happened  in  England  meauNvhile.  In  the  first 
place — that's  the  begiuniug  of  it  all — I've  sold  my 
Academy  picture.' 

*  Yon  don't  mean  to  say  eto  1'  Owen  exclaimed,  over« 


b: 


I      I 


DNDBR  SEALED  ORDERS 


If 

if  f 


,   \ 


it    ! 


,i'i     ! 


joyed.  •  But  not  at  your  own  price,  surely,  Sacha.  Ton 
know  you  told  us  it  was  quite  prohibitive  yoursell  You 
put  it  80  high  just  for  the  di-^nity  of  art,  you  said.' 

Sacha's  not  unbecoming  blush  mantled  deeper  witn 
conscious  svcess. 

•  Well,  U'  exactly  that,'  she  answered.  '  I  knew  the 
price  was  prohibitive — or,  at  least,  I  believed  so ;  but  I 
reckoned  its  value  in  accordance  with  what  anybody  was 
likely  to  give  for  it.  It  was  worth  a  Imndred  and  fifty, 
so  I  asked  a  hundred  and  fifty  for  it.  And  a  great 
Manchester  buyer  snapped  it  up  like  a  shot,  paying  the 
price  down  without  a  word ;  and  he  told  me  afterwards 
he'd  got  it  on  the  advice  of  a  famous  critic — he  wouldn't 
say  who,  but  I  think  I  know — and  that  if  I'd  asked  for 
two  hundred  I  should  have  had  it.' 

•  You  don't  mean  to  say  so  1'  Owen  cried,  pleased  and 
proud.  '  Well,  that's  splendid  news  I  Though  you 
deserve  it,  Sacha,  you  know ;  I'm  sure  you  deserve  it. 
I've  always  said  myself  you'd  be  a  very  great  artist  one 
of  these  days — a  very,  very  great  artist — like  Madame 
Lebrun  or  Bosa  Bonheur.' 

Sacha  smiled  demurely.  It  was  no  small  joy  to  her 
to  get  such  praise  from  Owen,  for  she  believed  in  her 
brother. 

'  Well,  then,  dear,'  she  went  on,  *  you  see,  that  made 
me  a  rich  woman  outright  ail  at  once,  for  he  gave  me  a 
cheque  for  the  whole  of  the  money  in  a  lump — a  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  at  a  single  go,  and  all  earned  by  myself, 
too.  ^  Isn't  it  just  delightful  ?  Is  this  your  bag  ?  Then 
put  it  in  a  hansom  and  come  with  me  to  my  rooms.  I'm 
in  lodgings  close  by,  while  we  look  after  the  papering  and 
furnishing  in.  Victoria  Street.' 

•The  whatf  Owen  cried,  throwing  his  portmanteau 
in  front  as  if  it  weighed  a  pound  or  two,  and  taking  his 
■eat  by  her  side,  bewildered  and  astonislied. 

'Oh,  I  forgot;  that's  part  of  the  history,'  Sacha 
answered,  running  on.  '  Why,  the  fact  of  it  is^  Owen, 
being  a  rich  woman  now,  I've  left  Moor  Hill  for  good, 
and  Aunt  Julia  too,  and  determined  to  come  and  hve  in 
town  on  my  own  scale  in  future.' 

•  And  give  up  the  studio  I'  Owen  cried  regretfully, 


BIAN  PROFOSBS 


*  Oh,  I  shall  ha\9  a  studio  in  our  flat,  of  course,'  Sacha 
replied,  with  a  slight  sigh.  •  Though,  naturally,  it  was  a 
wrench — I  don't  deny  it — to  give  up  the  dear  old  five- 
cornered  nook  at  the  Eed  Cottaga  But  I  felt  it  was 
necessary.  For  a  long  time  I  have  realized  the  fact  that 
it  was  artistic  stagnation  to  live  down  where  we  did — in 
the  depths  of  Surrey.  In  art,  you  know,  Owen,  one 
wants  constant  encouragement,  stimulation,  criticism. 
One  ought  to  be  dropping  perpetually  into  other  men'i 
rooms ' — Sacha  said  it  as  naturally  as  if  she  were  a  man 
herself — *  to  see  how  they're  getting  on,  how  they're 
developing  their  ideas,  and  whether  they're  improving 
them  or  spoiling  them  in  the  course  of  the  painting 
One  ought  to  have  other  men  dropping  perpetually  into 
one's  own  rooms  to  look  on  in  return,  and  praising  one  or 
slanging  one  as  the  case  demands,  or,  at  any  rate, 
observing,  discussing,  suggesting,  modifying.  I  felt  I 
was  making  no  progress  at  all  in  my  art  at  Moor  HilL 
I  stuck  just  where  I'd  got  to  when  I  left  Paris.  So, 
when  this  great  stroke  of  luck  came,  I  said  to  myself  at 
once,  "  Now  I'm  a  painter  launched.  I  shall  be  rich  in 
future.  I  must  do  justice  to  my  art,  and  Uve  in  the  very 
thick  of  the  artistio  world.  I  must  move  in  the  swint 
I  must  go  ap  to  London."  And  that's  how  we  decided 
on  this  flat  in  Victoria  Street,  which  we're  now  engaged 
in  furnishing  and  decorating.' 

'  But  what  does  Aunt  Julia  say  T  Owen  exclaimed,  % 
little  taken  aback  by  so  much  unexpected  precipitancy. 
Sacha  suppressed  a  slight  smile. 

*  Dear  old  Aunt  Julia  1'  she  said,  with  a  faint  under- 
current of  amusement  in  her  earnest  voice.  '  Well,  you  know 
just  what  she'd  eay,  Owen  I  Aunt  Julia  can  never  under- 
stand usmodern  girls.  She  thinks  theworld's  turned  topsy- 
turvy  in  a  lump,  and  that  everything  womanly's  gone  and 
vanished  clean  out  of  it.  She  put's  it  all  down,  though, 
to  dear  mother's  blood.  Aurora,  she  says,  was  always 
flighty.  And  no  doubt  she's  right,  too,  in  her  way.  lis 
from  mother,  I  expect,  Owen,  that  I  inherit  the  arfcisiio 
tendency  aud  many  other  things  in  my  nature.  In  iter 
it  came  out  in  the  form  of  music;  in  me  it  comes  cud  in 
the  form  of  painting.     Bat  it's  the  same  it^pulse  at 


if 

w 


ii 


I! 


74 


UNDER  SEAI^BD  ORDHRS 


bottom,  you  know,  whichever  turn  it  tahea.  There'i 
nothing  of  the  sort  about  Aunt  Julia,  certainly.' 

'  They  must  have  been  singularly  diiierent  in  type,  no 
doubt,'  Owen  mused  with  a  sigh.  '  Of  course  I  can't 
rem^rii'oer  poor  mother,  myself,  Sacha;  but  from  all 
yju've  told  me,  all  I've  heard  from  Mr.  Hayward,  she 
must  have  been  the  opposite  pole  from  poor  dear  Aunt 
Julia.' 

'  Well,  they  were  only  half-sisters,  you  see,'  Sacha 
answered  in  an  apologetic  tone.  '  And  I  fancy  our 
grandmother  must  have  been  a  very  different  person 
indeed  from  the  first  Mrs.  Cazalet.  Certainly,  you  can't 
imagine  Aunt  Julia  going  off  on  her  own  account  as  a 
public  singer  to  Berlin  and  Vienna,  or  marrying  a  Russian 
like  poor  father,  or  trying  to  escape  with  us  under  a 
feigned  name,  or,  in  fact,  doing  anything  else  that  wasn't 
perfectly  British  and  ordinary  and  commonplace  and 
uninteresting.' 

*  Aunt  Julia  was  born  to  be  a  deoorouB  English  old 
maid,'  Owen  interposed,  laughing.  '  She'd  have  missed 
her  vocation  in  life  if  anybody 'd  happened  to  propose 
to  her  and  married  her.' 

*  Yes,  and  when  she  heard  we  were  going  to  take  a 
flat  in  town  together — three  girls  alone — and  have  latch- 
keys of  our  own  and  nobody  to  chaperon  us — why,  I 
thought,  poor  clear  thing!  she'd  have  fainted  on  the 
spot.  But  what  horrified  her  most  was  our  grandest 
idea  of  all — that  we're  to  be  independent  and  self-sup- 
porting— self  suiBcient,  in  fact,  or  at  least  self-sufiicing. 
We  mean  to  do  our  own  work  and  to  keep  no  servants.' 

'  That's  good  1'  Owen  exclaimed,  seized  at  once  with 
the  idea,  in  the  true  vein  of  the  family.  •  That's  splendid, 
I  declare  1  So  advanced  1  so  Socialistic  I  Only,  I  say, 
Sacha,  you'll  want  some  one  to  do  the  heavy  work  of 
the  house.  I  expect  I'll  have  to  come  up  to  town  as 
well  and  live  with  you  as  hall-port ar.' 

'  I  don't  think  so,'  Sacha  answeied,  gazing  admiringly 
as  always  at  that  fresh  strong  frau  e  of  his.  '  I'm  pretty 
able-bodied  myself,  you  know  ;  the  Selistoffs  were  always 
a  race  of  giants,  Mr.  Hayward  says ;  and  though  Black- 
bird's A  tiny  feeble  wee  thing — you'yo  heard  me  speak 


MAN  FROPCSES 


75 


of  Blackbird — Hope  Braithwaite,  you  know,  that  pooir 
little  girl  with  a  soul  and  no  body  wlio  composes  such 
sweet  songs— though  Blackbird's  not  up  to  much,  lono 
Dracopoli's  quite  strong  enough,  I'm  sure,  to  do  the 
work  of  a  household.' 

*  lone  Dracopoli !'  Owen  cried,  in  an  almost  ironical 
agony  of  mingled  surprise  and  despair.  '  You  don't 
mean  to  say  lone  Dracopoli's  going  to  live  with  you  ?' 

'  Oh,  didn't  I  tell  you  that  at  first  ?'  Sacha  exclaimed, 
suddenly  remembering  herself.  '  I  suppose,  having  heard 
from  her  a  lively  account  of  how  she  met  you  in  her 
Turkish  costume  on  top  of  some  high  mountam  in 
Morocco  somewhere,  I  forgot  you  hadn't  learned  all 
about  it  from  herself  already.  She  was  quite  full  of 
you  when  she  returned ;  she  says  you're  so  strong,  and 
so  handsome,  and  so  interesting.  But,  of  course,  all 
this  has  turned  up  since  then.  Well,  let  me  see ;  this 
is  just  how  it  happened.  After  I  sold  my  picture  and 
came  up  to  town  to  these  lodgings,  where  I'm  taking  you 
now,  I  proposed  to  Blackbird,  who  is  miserable  at  home 
— all  hor  people  are  Philistines — that  she  should  come 
and  take  rooms  with  me  as  a  social  experiment,  and  we 
should  run  a  small  flat  on  mutual  terms  together.  So 
while  we  were  still  on  the  hunt,  looking  at  rooms  and 
rooms,  lonS  Dracopoli  turned  up  in  town,  Turkish 
trous  jrs  and  all,  and  was  taken  up,  of  course,  as  a  nine 
dayg  wonder.  The  Old  Girls'  Club,  at  college,  gave  her 
a  breakfast  one  day,  which  I  attended,  naturally ;  and 
there  she  heard  of  my  plan,  and  fell  in  with  it  heart 
and  soul.  She  wanted  to  be  one  of  us.  She  says  there 
were  always  three  Graces,  and  she  must  be  number 
three ;  and  as  for  going  without  a  servant,  that  was  the 
dream  of  her  existence.  We  two  others  were  naturally 
glad  enough  to  get  her,  for  we'd  been  hunting  in  vain 
for  a  flat  small  enough  and  cheap  enough  to  suit  our 
purses ;  and  lone  has  money,  so  that  by  clubbing  together 
we  can  do  much  better.  Well,  the  end  of  it  all  was  we've 
taken  a  dear  little  place  behind  Victoria  Street,  West- 
minster, and  in  a  week  irzm  to-day  we  mean  to  move 
Into  it.' 

Owon'i  heart  beat  fast    This  wm  a  terribl*  ordeal. 


M] 


ilW 


i 
\ 

ii 


ail' 


i 


<  ]ii 


i; 


ft  UNDBS.  S^AIvBD  ORDERS 

He'd  fully  made  up  hir.  miod  never  to  see  lonS  as  long 
as  ho  lived  again.  But  he  couldn't  promifis  to  give  up 
paying  visits  to  Sachp  There  was  nobody  so  near  him 
or  so  sympathetic  as  she  was.  And  though  she  didn't 
know  all  his  relations  with  Mr.  Hayward — including  the 
reasons  why  he  was  going  into  the  diplomatic  service — 
she  was  the  only  living  soul  on  earth,  besides  his 
guardian,  with  whom  he  could  allude  in  any  way  io  the 
secret  of  hib  birth  or  his  Eussian  origin.  To  everybody 
else  he  was  just  Miss  Gazalet's  nephew,  the  son  of  that 
half-sister  who  married  somewhere  abroad,  and  whose 
husband  wan  supposed  to  have  died  in  disgrace  in  Canada 
or  Australia. 

Fox  the  sake  of  the  Cause,  he  dreaded  the  prospect  of 
Mting  much  more  of  lend. 


(\ 


GHAPTEB  XIL 


riMB  ABT. 


A«  ihe  Academy,  those  same  days,  Lady  Beaumont  one 
bfternoou  strolled  vacantly  through  the  rooms,  doing  the 
honours  of  English  art  to  her  friend,  Madame  Mireli". 

'  Yes,  Sir  Frederick's  are  charming,'  she  said  languidly, 
deigning  a  glance  as  she  passed  through  the  aristocratic 
outrage ;  '  but  then  Sir  Frederick,  of  course,  is  always 
charming.  Besides,'  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  •  I  saw  them 
all  in  his  studio  before  thtey  came  here,  you  know,'  which 
absolved  her  accordingly  from  the  disagreeable  necessity 
at  pretending  to  look  at  them  now.  '  So  ei^-uisitely 
graceful,  aren't  they  ?  Such  refinement  1  Such  feel- 
ing I Well,  she  answered  me  back  to  my  face,  n\y 

dear,  ••  Ai  good  as  you  are,  my  lady."  Those  were  her  very 
wordi,  I  assure  you — "  as  good  as  you  are,  my  lady." 
Bo,  after  that,  of  course,  it  was  quite  impossible  for  me 
io  dream  of  keeping  her  on  one  minute  longer.  My 
husband  went  in  and  packed  her  oil  immediately.  Sir 
Arthur's  not  a  violent  man — for  a  soldier,  that  i?.  to  say 
— and  Binoe  he  went  iuto  Parliament,  between  you  and 
BM,  his  temper's  beou  like  a  lauib  compared  to  what  it 


i 


PINB  ART  If 

tised  to  be  when  we  were  out  in  India ;  but  that  morning, 
I'll  admit,  he  flared  up  like  a  haycock.  He  sent  her 
packing  at  once,  passage  paid,  by  the  first  train  to  Calais. 
So  there  I  was,  my  dear — yes,  a  sweet  thing,  really ;  hft 
does  these  Venetian  scenes  so  veil ;  a  pleasant  man,  too ; 
he  dined  with  us  on  Saturday — so  there  I  was  at  Grindel- 
wald,  left  high  and  dry,  without  a  maid  to  my  name ; 
and  as  I'm  about  as  incapable  as  a  babe  unborn  of  dress- 
ing my  own  hair  myself,  I  had  to  go  over  to  Inte'-laken 
next  morning  early  to  get  it  done  up  by  a  coiffei.r,  and 
then,  if  you  can  believe  me,  I  was  forced  to  sleep  in  it 
for  three  nights  at  a  stretch  without  taking  it  down— 
wasn't  it  ridiculous,  figures  vous — just  like  a  South  Sea 
Islander  with  a  neck  prop — till  Arthur  had  got  out  ft 
new  maid  for  me  by  telegraph  from  London.' 

Madame  Mireff  smiled. 

'  What  a  8la.very,'  she  said  quietly, '  to  be  bo  dependent 
on  a  maid  that  one  can't  even  go  to  bed  in  comfort  with- 
out herl  It  reminds  me  of  those  slave-making  anti 
Professor  Sergueyefif  told  me  about  in  Petersburg  the 
other  day,  which  can't  even  feed  themselves  unless  there'i 
a  slave  ant  by  their  sides  to  put  the  food  into  their 
mouths,  but  die  of  starvation  in  the  midst  of  plenty.' 

Lady  Beaumont  stilled  a  yawn. 

*  Arthur  says  in  a  hundred  years  there'll  be  no  servants 
at  all,'  she  drawled  out  in  her  weary  way.  *  The  girls 
and  the  men  of  the  lower  orders  will  all  be  too  fine  and 
too  well  educated  to  wait  upon  us.  But  I  tell  him,  thank 
Heaven  I  they'll  last  my  time,  and  that's  enough  for  ma 
I  couldn't  do  without.     After  us,  the  deluge.' 

'  That's  a  beautiful  thing  over  there,'  Madame  MireflT 
put  in,  interrupting  her.  '  No,  not  the  little  girl  with 
the  drum  ;  that's  not  my  taste  at  all ;  I'm  sick  of  your 
English  little  girls  in  neat,  tight  black  stockings.  The 
one  beside  it,  I  mean — 827,  Greek  Maidens  playing  Ball. 
It's  so  free  and  graceful;  so  much  life  and  movement 
in  it.' 

'  It  M  pretty,'  Lady  Beaumont  assented,  putting  up 
her  quizzing-glass  once  more,  with  as  much  show  of 
interest  as  she  could  nauster  up  in  a  more  painted  picture. 
'  X  forget  who  it's  by,  though.     But  I've  seen  it  before, 


-m 


78 


UNDER  SEALBr  C  RDERS 


ii 


;l 


U 


J  T 


1 


^ 


■i     > 

>     I 


I'm  sutb     It  must  have  been  in  one  of  the  studios,  I 

expect,  on  Show  Sunday.' 

Madfi,me  Mireff  hunted  it  up  in  the  catalogue — a  rare 
honour  at  her  hands,  for  her  taste  was  fastidious. 

'  Aspasia's  School-days,'  she  read  out,  *  Alexandra  M. 
Cazalet.' 

'  Oh  dear  yes,  to  be  sure  I'  Lady  Beaumont  cried,  with 
a  sudden  flash  of  reminiscence.  '  How  stupid  of  me 
to  forget  1  I  ought  to  have  remembered  it.  I'm  glad 
xVrthur  wasn't  here  ;  he'd  be  vexed  at  my  having  for- 
gotten. A  county  member's  wife,  he  says,  should  make 
a  point  of  remembering  everybody  and  everything  in  the 
whole  division.  And  I  saw  it  till  I  was  sick  of  it,  too, 
in  her  studio  at  Moor  Hill.  So  it  is,  I  declare,  Sacha 
Cazalet's  picture.' 

Madame  Mireff  caught  at  the  name  with  true  Slavonic 
quickness. 

'  Sacha,'  she  repeated — *  Sacha  Cazalet  I  Why,  she 
must  be  partly  Eussian.  That's  a  Eussian  word,  Sacha 
— it's  short  for  Alexandra,  too — and  her  name's  Alex- 
andra. Her  mother  must  be  a  Slav.  .  .  .  And  that's  no 
doubt  why  I  like  her  work  so  well  There's  Eussian 
feeling  throughout,  in  both  subject  and  execution ;  such 
intensity,  such  fervour,  such  self-restraint,  such  deep 
realism.* 

*  She  lives  down  our  way,'  Lady  Beaumont  remarked, 
with  a  casual  glance  at  the  intensity.  *  She's  a  queer, 
r9«£?rved  girl,  self-restrained,  as  you  say;  a  little  too 
nuo),  so,  perhaps,  for  me  ;  and  she  has  such  a  dreadful 
old  woman  for  an  aunt — old  maid — you  know  the  type ; 
shedding  tracts  as  she  goes  ;  red  flannel ;  Dorcas  meet- 
ings. Oh,  quite  too  dreadful  for  anything  in  her  black 
Bilk  dress  and  her  appalling  black  bonnet,  with  a  bunch 
of  mauve  flowers  in  it.  But  there's  no  avoiding  her.  In 
the  country,  you  see,  a  member  of  Parliament's  wife 
must  know  the  most  ghastly  people — you  can't  imagine 
what  a  trial  il  is.  A  smile  and  a  kind  inquiry — so — after 
rheumatics  or  babies — for  every  old  frump  or  old  bora 
vou  meet  on  tlio  footpath.  Ugh  1  It's  just  too  sicken- 
mg.  .  .  .  But  I  u'jver  hoard  anybody  say  Sacha  Oaiialet 
wad  u  EuuuiuQ.' 


FINB  ART  19 

*  What.'«»  the  annt's  name?'  Madame  Mireff  asked  Rud- 
dojily,  fc  no  reason  iu  particular,  except  that  'twas  part 
of  licr  mission  to  follow  up  every  clue  about  every  known 
or  suspected  Russian  family  in  England. 

'  Why,  Cazalet,  of  course,'  Lady  Beaumont  answered 
at  once,  without  pretending  to  any  great  interest  either 
in  person  or  picture.    *  They're  all  three  of  them  Cazalets.' 

•  Then  they're  her  brother's  children,  whoever  they 
ire,'  Madame  went  on  rapidly,  '  this  Miss  Sacha  and  the 
rest ;  or  else,  of  course,  their  name  couldn't  be  Cazalet, 
too.     Who  was  their  mother,  I  wonder  ?' 

Lady  Beaumont  paused  and  stood  still.  It  was  too 
much  effort  for  her  to  walk  anJ  think  at  the  same  time. 

'  Well,  I  never  thought  of  that  before,'  she  said,  look- 
ing puzzled  for  a  moment.  '  You  see,  they're  not  in  our 
Bet  exactly ;  we  only  know  them  as  we're  obhged  to  know 
everybody  in  the  division — on  political  grounds,  that  is 
to  say — garden-party  once  a  year — hardly  more  than 
what  you  might  call  a  bowing  acquaintance.  But  it's 
odd  her  name's  Cazalet,  too,  now  you  suggest  it,  for  I've 
always  understood  Sacha's  mother  and  the  old  lady  were 
half-sisters  or  something.  .  .  .  Perhaps  she  mariied  a 
cousin,  though.  .  .  .  But  at  any  rate  they're  Cazalets, 
this  girl  and  her  brother  Owen,  a  great  giant  of  a  fellow 
wh  J  gets  prizes  at  sports  for  jumping  and  running.' 

'  And  yet  they  call  her  Sacha,'  Madame  ruminated, 
undeterred.  *  Well,  that's  certainly  odd ;  for  Sacha's 
real  Russian.  Though,  to  l)o  sure,  in  England  nowadays 
you  call  a  girl  anything.  No  language  is  safe  from  you- 
I'vo  met  a  dozen  Olgas  at  least  since  I  came  to  London. 
.  .  .  And  how  old's  this  Sacha  Cazalet  ?  She  paints 
beautifully,  anyhow.' 

•  About  twenty-five  or  twenty-six,  I  s'hould  say,'  Lady 
Beaumont  answered  at  a  guess.  •  And  Owen  must  be 
twenty  or  a  little  over.  Let  me  see ;  he  was  a  baby  in 
arms  when  he  first  came  to  Moor  Hill,  the  year  our 
Algy  was  born.  /Igy'rf  tw(Mity  in  August,  The  little 
girl  was  four  or  live  then ;  and  that's  just  twenty  years 
•go.' 

Madame  Mireff  a'il  the  while  was  eiamining  the  picture 
•losely. 


w 


UNDER  SEAI^BD  0RDBR8 


m 

V 

i     " 

i 


\f: 


I'' 

'   ■li' 


Hh 


!     . 


'11      k 


i 


! 


n 


'  Very  SlaTonio,'  she  said  at  last,  drawing  back  and 
posing  in  front  to  take  it  all  in  ;  '  vary  Slavonic,  certainly. 
.  .  .  Pure  Verestohagin,  that  girl  there.  And  you  say 
they  came  to  Moor  Hill  twenty  years  ago  now.  Hov  ? 
— from  where? — with  whom? — was  their  mother  with 
them  ?' 

She  spoke  bo  sharply  and  inquisitively,  in  spite  of  her 
soft  roundness  of  face  and  form,  that  Lady  Beaumont, 
with  her  society  languor,  was  half  annoyed  at  such 
earnestness. 

<I  think  it  was  from  Canada,'  the  Englishwoman 
answered,  with  still  more  evident  unconcern,  as  if  the 
subject  bored  her.  'But  I  never  asked  the  old  aunt 
body  much  about  it.  I  had  no  interest  in  the  children  ; 
they  were  nothing  to  me.  I  believe  their  mother  wai 
dead,  and  something  or  other  unmentionable  had  hap- 
pened to  their  father.  But  Miss  Cazalet  was  never 
very  communicative  on  the  point,  because  I  believe  the 
sister  had  gone  and  disgraced  them  in  some  way — went 
on  the  stage,  I  fancy  I've  heard — or,  at  any  rate,  didn't 
come  up  to  the  district- v?  siting  standard  of  social  con- 
duct. I  never  heard  the  rights  or  the  wrongs  of  the 
story  myself.  Why  should  I,  indeed  ?  They  were  not 
in  our  society.' 

*  Have  they  any  friends — the  boy  and  girl,  I  mean  7* 
Madame  Mireflf  asked  once  more,  with  the  same  evident 
eagerness.  '  Who  are  the  father's  people  ?  Don't  they 
ever  come  across  to  see  these  two  children — from  Canada 
or  anywhere  ?' 

Lady  Beaumont  reflected. 

'  I  don't  think  so,'  she  ^nawevtilj  efter  a  paus^k 
•  There's  a  guardian  of  the  boj^';,  I'o  be  bu*'^ — or  some- 
body they  choose  to  call  a  guar*?,  a  i  I  air  ;>  ■  comes  very 
seldom.  I  saw  him  there  this  s-i.  »  or,  iihough.  A  very 
odd  man,  with  the  manners  of  a  ,  I'nce,  who's  been 
everywhere  in  the  world,  ind  knc'>  3  absolutely  every- 
thing.' 

'A  foreigner?'  Madame  asked,  adopting  the  English 
phraso  and  applying  it  with  tentative  caution  to  her  own 
oonntrymen. 

•  Oh  dear  no,  an  Englishmau     At  least,  lo  they  said. 


I 


I 


FINE  ART 


8l 


i 


1 


His  uftme'i  Hayward,  anyhow,  and  that's  English 
enough  for  anybody,  I  should  think.  He'q  nobody  in 
particular,  either — just  a  photogi'apher  in  Bond  Street. 
He  calls  himself  Mortimer  and  Co.  in  business.' 

Madame  made  a  mental  note  of  the  name  at  once. 

'  I'll  go  there  and  get  photographed,'  she  said.  '  I  can 
ask  about  them  then.  Beskles,  I'm  in  want  of  a  new 
portrait  just  now.  I  haven't  got  any  in  stock.  Lord 
Caistor  asked  me  to  give  him  one  yesterday.' 

And  she  subsided  into  a  seat,  holding  that  plump 
hand  up  to  her  round  face  coquettishly. 

'  They  sa^  he's  quite  a  conquest  of  yours,'  Lady  Beau- 
mont suggested,  with  a  mischievous  look. 

'  Oh,  my  dear,  they'd  say  anything.  Why,  they  say 
I'm  an  emissary  of  the  Czar's,  and  an  unaccredited  agent, 
and  a  spy,  and  an  adventuress,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  what  else.  They'll  be  saying  I'm  a  Nihihst  next, 
or  a  princess,  or  a  pretender.  The  fact  of  it  is,  a  Eussian 
lady  can't  show  the  faintest  patriotic  pride  or  interest  in 
her  country  in  England  without  all  the  newspapers 
making  their  minds  up  at  once  she's  a  creature  of  the 
Government.' 

And  Madame  crossed  one  white  hand  resignedly  over 
the  other. 

'  That's  a  lovely  bracelet,  Olga  V  Lady  Beaumont 
cried,  turning  with  delight  at  last  to  a  more  congenial 
topic. 

Madame  unclasped  it  and  handed  it  to  her. 

*  Yes,  it's  pretty,'  she  answered ;  '  and,  what  I  prize 
still  more,  it's  through  and  through  Eussian.  The  gold 
is  from  the  Ural  mines  on  General  Selistoff's  property. 
The  sapphires  are  Siberian,  from  my  uncle's  government. 
The  workmanship's  done  by  a  famous  jeweller  in  Moscow. 
The  inscription's  in  old  Slavonic-  our  sacred  Russian 
tongue.  And  tlio  bracelet  itself  was  given  nie  by  our 
dear  good  Empress.  Ilayward — no,  Mortimer  and  Co. — • 
photographers,  Bond  Street.  I  won't  forgot  the  name. 
Here's  her  miniature  in  this  locket.  Shu  was  a  darling, 
our  Empress  1' 

'  You  belonged  to  her  houK  uhcld  ouco,  I  think  ?'  Ladj 
Beaumont  murmured, 


4 


i 


UNDER  SEAIvED  ORDERS 


.  :i 


'    ;! 


II 


The  remotest  fringe  of  royalty  interested  the  county 
member's  wife  profoundly. 

'  I  belonged  to  her  household  once — yes.  I  was  a 
lady-in-waiting.  The  Imperial  family  has  always  been 
pleased  to  be  land  to  the  Mireifs.  Prince  Ruric  Brassoff 
was  there,  too,  in  my  time.  Well,  it's  a  beautiful  picture, 
Sacha  Cazalet's.  Let's  go  away  now,  Anastasia.  After 
that  dreamy  Eussian  vision  I  don't  care  to  look  any  more 
at  your  stodgy  English  middle-class  portraits.' 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


■:|i 


'    i 


il  1 


!'     i 


li 


THE    niGHER   EDUCATION   OP   WOMEN. 

A  WEEK  later  Owen  ran  up  by  morning  train  from  Moor 
Hill  to  see  Sacha  and  her  friends  installed  at  their  ease 
in  their  own  new  flat  a  little  behind  Victoria  Street. 

Tlie  Ab'"  itself,  to  be  sure,  with  most  of  its  inorganic 
contents,  ^e  had  fully  inspected  already.  It  was  daintily 
pretty  in  its  modern — its  very  modern — way,  with  high 
white  frieze  of  lincrusta  and  delicate  yellow  wall-paper ; 
and  Sacha  had  expended  upon  it  with  loving  interest  aU 
the  taste  and  care  of  an  authority  on  decoration. 

But  this  morning  he  came  rather  with  somewhat 
trembling  heart,  to  view  '  the  elective  family,'  as  Sacha 
called  it — '  the  miniature  phalanstery,'  Owen  christened 
it  himself — settled  down  in  its  new  abode,  and  to  face 
the  ordeal  of  a  first  meeting  with  lone  Dracopoli  in  the 
ordinary  everyday  garb  of  feminine  Christendom. 

Ho  touched  the  electric  bell  at  the  outer  door  with  one 
timid  finger.  It  flew  open  of  itself,  after  our  modern 
magic  fashion  ;  and  Sacha's  voice  was  heard  from  a  dim 
distance  down  the  passage  crying  out,  '  Come  in,*  in  most 
audible  accents.  Owen  followed  tiie  direction  of  the 
voice  towards  the  drawing-room  at  the  end,  and  entered 
the  pretty  whito-and-yellow  apartment  in  a  flutter  of  ex- 
pectation. 

Hii  iiriit  feeling  on  looking  round  wtis  a^  vaj^ue  oon- 


THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION  OF  WOMEN  1^ 

Bciousness  of  relief.  lonS  wasn't  there.  How  lucky  1 
And  how  provoking ! 

Sacha  jumped  up  and  greeted  him  with  a  sisterly  kiss. 
Then  she  turned  towards  a  long  wicker  chair  with  its 
back  to  the  door. 

'  This  is  Blackbird/  she  said  simply,  waving  her  hand 
in  that  direction ;  and  Owen  bowed  his  most  distinguished 
consideration. 

'  What  a  shame,  Sacha  1'  a  full  rich  voice  broke  out 
from  the  depths  of  the  chair,  where  Owen  at  first  hadn't 
noticed  anybody  sitting ;  '  fancy  introducing  one  that 
way  1  This  is  your  brother,  I  suppose  ?  But  please 
don't  let  him  think  my  name's  really  Blackbird.* 

Owen  peered  into  the  long  chair  whence  the  voice 
proceeded,  and  saw  a  frail  little  woman  stretched  out  in 
it  lazily — a  frail  little  woman  who  ought  to  have  been 
eighteen,  to  judge  by  her  development,  but  who,  as 
Sacha  had  already  informed  him,  was  really  twenty- 
seven.  She  was  tiny,  like  a  doll — not  short,  but  small 
and  dainty ;  and  as  she  lounged  there  at  full  length  with 
two  pallid  hands  clasped  loose  behind  her  shapely  head, 
and  neck  thrown  back  carelessly,  she  looked  too  fragile 
for  this  earth — a  mere  delicate  piece  of  semi-transparent 
Dresden  china.  Blackbird  was  dark  and  large-eyed ;  her 
eyes,  indeed,  though  by  no  means  too  prominent,  seemed 
somehow  her  most  distinct  and  salient  feature.  Such 
eyes  Owen  had  never  seen  in  his  life  before.  They  were 
black  and  lustrous,  and  liquid  like  a  gazelle's  ;  and  thej 
turned  upon  him  plaintively  and  flooded  him  with  sad 
light  every  time  she  spoke  to  him.  Otherwise,  the  frail 
httle  woman  was  neither  exactly  pretty  nor  yet  what  one 
could  fairly  describe  as  plain.  She  was  above  all  things 
interesting.  A  profound  pity  for  her  evident  feebleness 
was  the  first  feeling  she  inspired.  '  Poor  wee  little 
thing  I'  one  felt  iucliiioi  to  say  as  one  saw  her.  A 
fatherly  instinct,  indeed,  would  have  tcjjipted  most  men 
to  lay  one  hand  caressingly  on  her  smooth  black  hair,  as 
they  took  her  pale  thin  fingos  in  their  own  with  the 
other.  But  lier  smile  was  tiweot,  tliou;i,li  very  full  of 
ponsiveuess.     A  weary  hUic  soulj  O  ^cu  thought  to  him- 


Ift 


ll 


im'X 


% 


!       3 

H      i 

I! 


84 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


Belf  as  he  gazed,  weighed  down  by  the  burden  of  Udf 

age's  complexity. 

'  No,  her  name's  not  really  Blackbird,  of  course,'  Saoha 
responded  quietly,  in  her  matter-of-fact  tone,  looking 
down  with  a  motherly  glance  at  the  shrinking  figure  in 
the  low  wicker  chair.  '  Her  name,  to  be  official,  is  Hope 
Merle  Braithwaite.  There,  now — is  that  definite  enough? 
Mr.  Cazalet — Miss  Braithwaite.  You  know  her  songs, 
Owen — and  so  you  know  herselt  She  is  all  one  song. 
She  evaporates  in  music.  That's  why  I  call  her  Black- 
bird, you  lee ' — and  Sacha  smoothed  her  friend's  head 
lovingly ;  '  she's  so  tiny  and  so  dark,  and  she's  got  so 
much  voice  in  her  for  such  a  wee  little  bit  of  a  thing. 
When  she  sings,  she  always  reminds  me  of  a  blackbird 
on  a  thorn-bush,  pouring  its  full  throat  in  a  song  a  great 
deal  too  big  for  it.  You  know  the  way  their  throati 
seem  to  swell  and  burst  with  the  notes  ?  Well,  Black- 
bird's throat  does  just  the  same.  She  wastes  herself  ui 
music' 

Blackbird  unclasped  her  hands  from  behind  her  neok, 
and  shook  her  head  solemnly.  Owen  observed  now  il 
was  well  shaped,  and  covered  with  straight  glossy  hair^ 
as  black  and  as  shiny  as  her  namesake's  plumage. 

*  Pure  poetical  fancy,  evolved  after  the  fact,'  she  said, 
smiling  sadly,  with  the  air  of  a  woman  who  shatter! 
against  the  grain  one  more  cherished  delusion.  '  Th« 
reality's  this :  My  parents  were  good  enough  to  christen 
me  Merle,  after  my  Swiss  relations,  the  Merle  d'Aubign^s; 
and  I'm  called  Merle  at  home,  though  I  was  Hope  at 
Oxfo-rd.  And  when  Sacha  heard  the  name,  she  thought 
it  extremely  appropriate  to  my  dark  hair  and  eyes,  and 
(iiiu  Englished  it  as  Blackbird.  That's  the  whole  truth 
of  the  matter.  All  this  other  imaginative  nonsense  about 
pouring  my  throat  in  song  came  ex  post  facto.  It  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  name.  80  there's  how  myth 
grows.' 

And  she  folded  the  two  pale  hands  resignedly  in  front 
of  ler. 

Owen  noted  tnat  '  ex  poat  fixto'  with  bocoining  awt. 
Mot  for  nothing  had  Blackbird  studied  dead  tongues  ftl 
Oxfoi'd. 


i 


fv 


1 


THR  Hir.TTKR  KDUCATION  OF  WOmjN 


85 


I 


*  WoU,  what  do  yon  ihink  of  the  flnt?*  Sacha  asked, 
with  a  co\v\passionato  glance  at  the  prwjr  weak  little 
penaiiuiak.  '  We've  got  it  up  nicely  into  form  now, 
hrtvou't  we?  Take  a  good  look  round  the  room,  and 
thcni  come  and  soo  my  studio.* 

'  You've  done  wonders,'  Owen  answered,  gazing  about 
him,  well  pleased.  '  And  it's  charming — charming  I 
How  lovely  you've  made  that  corner  there,  Tjith  those 
draperies  and  pipkins,  and  my  Morocco  mud-ware,  too ; 
BO  deliciously  Oriental.  That's  Miss  Braithwaite'i,  I 
suppose,  the  grand  piano  in  the  corner  ?' 

The  frail  girl  looked  up  at  him  with  those  great  sad 
eyes. 

*  Not  Miss  Braithwaite,'  she  said  calmly.  And  Owen 
noticed  now  at  once  a  certain  obvious  disparity,  as  Saoha 
ht\d  suggested,  between  the  full  musical  voice  and  the 
slender  frame  that  produced  it,  '  Not  Miss  Braithwaite, 
if  you  please.  Sacha's  arranged  all  that  already.  She's 
a  splendid  hand  at  arranging  things — Sacha  ;  she  bosses 
the  show,  lone  says,  and  I  must  admit  she  bosses  it 
beautifully.  So  nice  to  have  all  the  bother  of  living 
taken  off  your  hands  by  a  capable,  masterful,  practical 
person.  That's  what  I  admire  so  in  Sacha.  Well,  she's 
decided  that  we're  all  to  be  one  family  here — a  pantiso- 
cracy,  lon^  calls  it ;  no  Miss  and  no  Misters.  You're  to 
be  Owen,  and  I'm  to  be  lilackbird.  loae's  cook — she's 
out  marketing  now  ;  and  Sacha  and  I've  just  washed  up 
the  breakfast  things.  So,  of  course,  it's  absurd,  in  such 
a  household  as  this,  to  think  of  calling  one  another 
Mr.  What's-his-name  or  Miss  So-and-So.' 

'  I  don't  Boe  why,  I'm  sure,'  Owen  answered,  much 
amused.  *  A  Wly's  none  the  less  a  lady,  surely,  because 
she  can  do  souioLhing  useful  about  her  own  house,  as  our 
grandmothers  used  to  do.' 

'But  our  grandmothers  knew  no  Greek,'  Blackbird 
replied,  going  oil"  at  a  most  illogical  tangent.  '  It's  fclm 
combination  that  kills  us,  you  know — Greek  imd  house- 
hold drudgery.' 

'  Gome  and  see  my  studio,'  Saoha  interposed  cheerily, 
leading  the  way  to  the  next  room. 

It  was  Sacha's  business  to  cut  the  littlo  pessimist  ihorfc 


ji! 


Hi 


M 


I 


'  * 

r  ! 
i  i 


86  UNDER  SBAI^ED  ORDERS 

whenevar  possible.  And  when  the  studio  had  been  dnly 
inspected  they  went  on  to  the  dining-room,  and  the  bed- 
roorns,  and  the  kitchen,  and  the  pantry,  and  the  little 
scullery  at  the  back,  and  a  stone-floored  oflice  behind, 
frill  of  chemical  apparatus. 

'  Why,  what's  this  ?'  Owen  asked,  surprised.  *  Is 
Miss  Dracopoli  scientific,  then,  as  well  as  literary  T 

'  Oh  dear  no  I'  Blackbird  answered  with  a  languid 
drawl,  but  always  in  that  same  rich  voice ;  '  lone's 
nothing  on  earth.  Like  Du  Maurier's  Postlethwaite,  she's 
content  to  "  exist  beautifully.''  This  is  my  laboratory, 
this  room.  But  I've  promised  the  girls  never  to  make 
any  dreadfully  odorous  stews  in  it.  I  couldn't  get  along 
without  a  laboratory,  you  know.  I  must  have  some- 
where to  do  my  chemical  experiments.' 

Owen  scanned  the  frail  little  body  from  head  to  foot, 
alarmed.  Was  this  what  female  education  was  leading 
our  girls  to  ? 

'Greek — music — chemistry  I'  he  exclaimed,  gazing 
down  upon  her  five  feet  two  from  the  calm  height  of  his 
own  towering  masculine  stature.  '  You  don't  mean  to 
say  you  combine  them  all  in  your  own  sole  person  ?' 

'  And  not  much  of  a  person  at  that  I'  Blackbird 
answered,  with  a  faint  sigh.  'Yes,  that's  how  I  was 
brought  up.  It's  the  fault  of  the  system.  My  raw 
material  all  went  oflF  in  brain  and  nerves,  I'm  afraid,  I 
worked  those  so  hard,  there  was  nothing  at  all  left  to 
build  up  blood  and  bone  and  flesh  and  muscle.' 

'  But  why  on  earth  did  you  do  it  ?'  Owen  couldn't  help 
exclaiming ;  for  Blackbird's  frank  remark  was  so  obviously 
true.  It  might  be  rude  of  him  to  admit  it,  but  he  didn't 
feel  inclined  to  contradict  a  lady. 

'  I  didn't  do  it,'  Blackbird  answered  piteously.  *  It 
was  my  people  who  educated  me.  You  see,  they  thought 
I  was  clever — perhaps  I  was  to  start  with ;  and  they 
crammed  me  with  everything  on  earth  a  girl  could  learn. 
Latin,  Greek,  modern  languages,  mathematics,  natural 
science,  music,  drawing,  dancing,  till  I  was  stuffed  to  the 
throat  with  them.  Je  suis  jusque  Id,^  and  she  put  her 
hand  to  her  ohin  with  some  dim  attempt  at  feminine 
playfuluegf,    *  Like  Straslrourg  geese,'  she  added  slowly 


THB  HIGHER  EDUCATION  OF  WOMBN 


87 


in  a  melancholy  after-thought ;  *  it  may  be  good  for  the 
brain,  but  it's  precious  bad  for  the  body.* 

Owen  stretched  his  big  shoulders  back,  and  expanded 
his  chest  involuntarily.  The  mere  sight  cf  that  weak 
frame  seemed  to  make  him  assert  his  own  physical 
prowess  by  automatic  contrast. 

'  But  why  do  you  go  on  vith  it  now  ?'  he  asked  simply. 
'  Why  continue  to  work  at  this  chemistry,  for  example  ? 
In  poky  London  rooms  you  want  all  the  fresh  air  you 
can  get,  surely.  Howinfinit3ly  better,  now,  instead  of 
chemistry,  to  join  a  lawn-tennis  club  1' 

Blackbird  shrank  back  as  if  terrified. 

'A  lawn-tennis  club?'  she  cried,  all  amazed.  *0h 
dear  I  they'd  be  so  rough.  They'd  knock  one  about  80. 
I  can't  bear  being  buUied.  That's  why  I  like  Sacha  and 
lond  so  much ;  they're  strong,  but  they  don't  bully  you. 
Oh  dear  I  oh  dear  1  I  could  never  play  tennis.  I've 
been  brought  up  to  mix  chemicals,  and  read  books,  and 
compose  music  :  and  it's  like  a  reflex  action  now.  I 
compose  automatically ;  I  test  for  acids  like  a  machine. 
I've  learnt  to  do  these  things  till  I  can't  get  on  without 
doing  them.' 

Sacha  turned  to  him  quickly,  and  said  something  short 
in  a  language  which  Blackbird  didn't  understand,  good 
linguist  though  she  was.  But  Owen  knew  that  the 
Bussian  sentence  she  uttered  so  fast  meant  this  in 
effect : 

'  That's  just  why  I  took  her  to  live  with  us  here  She's 
10  frail  and  frightened;  she  needs  somebody  bright  to 
put  sunshine  in  her  life — somebody  strong  and  strong- 
willed  to  protect  her  and  encourage  her.' 

'  My  own  people  are  strong,  you  know,'  Blackbird 
went  on  in  the  same  plaintive  voice,  watching  a  still  as 
she  spoke,  '  and  they  always  bully  me.  They're  Phihs- 
tines,  of  course ;  but,  do  you  know,  I  think  Philistines 
are  really  the  very  worst  on  education.  From  the  day  I 
was  born,  almost,  they  kept  nio  constantly  at  it.  Papa's 
a  colonial  broker,  though  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  he 
brokes,  or  what  broking  is  ;  but  he  decided  from  the  time 
I  was  a  baby  in  arms  I  was  to  be  thoroughly  well 
•duoftted.  And  educated  I  was— oh  my,  it's  just  dreadful 


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n  UNDBR  SBAI^BD  0RD9HS 

to  me  even  now  to  look  back  upon  it  I  Mosio  from  the 
time  I  could  hardly  finger  the  piano,  Greek  as  soou  (iff  I 
knew  my  English  letters,  mathematics  when  most  girli 
are  only  beginning  arithmetic.  Stram,  strum,  strum, 
from  breakfast  to  bed-time.  And  then  at  seventeen  I 
-was  sent  to  Lady  Margaret.  That  was  the  first  happy 
time  I  ever  knew  in  my  life.  The  girls  were  so  nice  to 
me.    There  was  one  girl,  I  remember ' 

But  at  that  moment  a  latchkey  turned  sharp  in  tb . 
door,  and  a  light  foot  entered.  The  sunshine  had  come. 
Owen  turned  round  with  a  beating  heart. 

'Is  that  lone  Dracopoli?'  he  asked,  trembling,  of 
Sacha. 

And  even  as  he  spoke  a  tripping  figure,  with  a  basket 
held  gaily  in  one  hand,  burst  quickly  into  the  laboratory. 

'  Why,  here's  Owen  1'  the  girl  cried,  seizing  both  falf 
hands  hke  an  old  friend.  '  I  thought  I  heard  hii  ToioOb 
Well,  I  do  call  this  joUyT 


OHAPTBB  XIV. 

lONt    IN    ■Na&ANDli 

When  Owen  had  recovered  his  breath  enough  to  take  ft 
good  look  at  her,  he  saw  in  a  moment  for  mmself  loni 
was  simply  charming. 

In  Morocco  he  had  wondered  vaguely  more  than  onoe 
in  his  own  mind  how  much  of  her  nameless  magio  at 
first  sight  was  due  merely  to  the  oddity  and  piquancy 
of  her  dress  and  the  quaintness  of  the  circumstances. 
You  don't  expect  to  meet  a  stray  English  girl  every  day 
pervading  untrodden  Atlas  in  male  Moorish  attire,  and 
astride  on  her  saddle-horse  like  a  man  and  a  brother. 

'Perhaps/  he  had  said  to  himself,  trying  to  reason 
down  his  admiration  for  Mr.  Hayward's  sake  and  in  the 
intorests  of  the  cause,  '  perhaps  if  one  saw  her  in  London 
in  ordinary  English  clothes  one  would  think  no  more  of 
her  than  of  the  average  young  wsman  one  takes  down 
any  day  in  the  week  to  dinner.' 


id 


^WUV,    UHIIK's   OWKN  I  "     TIIK    <lll(l.    CKIKll,   HKI/.lNd    HOTII    IIU    UAISDH    MKK    AN 

OLD  FUIKNU."— l'UgL'88. 


^ 


lONft  IN  ENGLAND  ,         §9 

Well,  he  had  the  opportunity  now  of  testing  this  half- 
formed  idea,  and  he  found  it  break  down  in  practice 
most  conclusively.  lone  was  beautiful — not  a  doubt 
in  the  world  about  that — as  bright,  as  taking,  nay, 
even,  for  that  matter,  as  original  and  as  free,  in  her 
Liberty  dress  as  even  in  the  embroidered  jacket  and 
loose  Turkish  trousers  of  her  North  AMcan  experi- 
ences. 

A  beautiful  girl — fresh,  fair,  and  vivacious;  a  perfect 
contrast  to  Blackbird,  in  her  fluffy  chestnut  hair,  her 
Titality,  her  strength  ;  to  Sacha,  in  her  boundless  spirits, 
her  quick  ways,  her  flowing  talk,  her  very  boisterousnest 
and  cheeriness. 

'  So  here's  Owen,'  she  repeated  after  a  moment,  tum- 
ing  the  contents  of  her  basket  out  on  the  scullery  table 
with  delicious  frankness.  '  Well,  this  is  just  too  nice 
for  anything  1  I'm  so  glad  I've  not  missed  you.  Gome 
along,  then,  Owen,  and  make  yourself  generally  useful 
in  the  kitchen,  like  a  good  fellow.  You  may  help  me, 
if  you  like,  to  get  the  lunch  things  ready  I' 

There  was  a  fall  in  Russians.  Mr.  Hayward  and  th^ 
•ause  went  instantly  down  to  zero.  Owen  was  conscious 
at  that  moment  of  only  two  objects  in  the  whole  round 
world,  lond  Dracopoli  and  a  violent  palpitation  under 
Ills  own  left  waistcoat. 

Never  was  luncheon  prepared  by  so  many  cooks  af 
that  one.  This  was  their  first  morning  in  the  flat,  so 
they  were  new  to  the  work  as  yet ;  and,  besides,  :lirta 
tion  and  cookery  went  hand-in-hand  together.  'Twas 
Arcadia  in  Pimlico.  lond,  in  her  soft  woollen  terra-cotta 
gown,  with  white  apron  in  front,  and  man-cook's  cap 
confining  her  free  chestnut  locks  above,  looked  even 
prettier  than  ever  in  her  new  capacity.  Owen  held  the 
saucepans  for  her  to  mix  things  in,  as  in  the  seventh 
heaven,  or  stirred  the  custard  en  the  stove  with  rapturous 
fingers.  Sacha  prepared  the  meat,  and  took  charge  of 
the  fire  and  the  oven.  Blackbird  sat  by,  and  exercised 
a  general  critical  supervision  of  a  pessimistic  character. 
She  knew  the  soup  could  never  turn  out  right  like  that, 
and  she  had  the  gloomiest  possible  views  of  her  own  aa 
lo  the  luooesB  of  the  lemon  cheese-cakes.    Bat  the  event 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


didn't  justify  the  Cassandra  of  the  flat,  for  lunoh,  when 
it  arrived,  was  most  brilliantly  successful 

About  three  o'clock,  however,  as  they  rested  from  their 
toil  after  washing  up  the  dishes,  there  came  a  ring  at 
the  bell,  and  lond,  who  had  peeped  out  with  intent 
to  answer  it,  drew  her  head  back  suddenly,  spying 
strangers  i}hrough  the  stained-glass  panels  of  the  outer 
door. 

'  Goodness  gracious,  girls  I'  she  cried,  all  agog,  glancing 
down  at  her  apron,  '  what  shall  we  ever  do  ?  1  declare, 
it's  visitors  1' 

'  Visitors  1'  Sacha  replied.  '  And  already  1  Impossible  I' 

lonfi  seized  Owen  most  nr ceremoniously  by  the  arm, 
and  pushed  him  forward  into  the  passage. 

'You  go  and  answer  it,  Owen,'  she  said,  laughing. 
*  You're  the  most  presentable  of  the  lot ;  and  it's  men,  I 
think — gentlemen.' 

Owen  went  to  the  door.  Sure  enough,  two  strangers 
stood  there,  in  the  neatest  of  frockcoats  and  the  glossiest 
of  tall  hats,  with  hothouse  flowers  in  their  buttonholes — 
a  couple  of  men  about  town,  Owen  thought  to  himself, 
with  fine  contempt  at  first  sight,  if  ever  he  saw  a  pair. 
They  were  aged  about  thirty,  and  looked  as  though  their 
collars  were  their  main  object  in  life.  Owen  took  a  pre- 
judice against  them  at  a  glance.  These  fellows  were  too 
dapper  and  too  well  groomed  by  far  for  the  big-limbed 
athlete's  rough  country-bred  fancy. 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,'  the  tallest  and  handsomest  of  the 
two  said,  with  an  apologetic  air — he  wore  a  gardenia  in 
his  buttonhole.  '  I  think  we  must  have  made  a  mistake^ 
Does  Miss  Braithwaite  live  here  ?' 

Owen  held  the  door  ajar  dubiously  in  his  hand,  and 
blocked  the  entrance  with  his  big  frame,  as  he  answered, 
in  no  friendly  voice  : 

'  She  does.    Do  you  want  to  see  her  ?* 

The  ycung  man  with  the  gardenia  answered,  mors 
modestly  than  Owen  expected : 

'  Well,  we'd  like  to  send  our  cards  in,  and  if  Miss 
Braithwaite's  not  engaged  we'd  be  much  obliged  if  she 
could  spare  us  just  a  very  few  oinutes.' 

Hf  handed  Owen  his  card  aj  he  spokfl^    Owen  glanoed 


lONfi  IN  ENGLAND 


n 


Ai  It  and  read,  '  Mr.  Trevor  Gardener/  The  gardenia 
was  bis  mark,  as  it  were — a  sort  of  armoiries  parlantes. 

The  other  man,  who  was  shorter  and  darker,  and  wore 
an  orchid  in  his  buttonhole,  handed  his  at  the  same 
time.  It  bore  the  name,  '  Henley  Stokes,  5,  Pump 
Court,  Temple.* 

Owen  couldn't  say  why,  but  the  glossy  tall  hats  end 
the  neat  frockcoats  put  his  back  up  inexpressibly.  Hq 
retreated  down  the  passage  with  a  hobbledehoy's  awk- 
wardness, leaving  the  two  men  standing  sheepish  at  the 
open  door,  and  said,  in  a  loud  voice,  more  plainly  than 
politely,  as  he  laid  down  the  cards  on  the  drawing-room 
table : 

'  Two  fellows  outside,  come  to  call  upon  Blackbird.' 

•  Show  them  in  I'  Sacha  replied,  with  as  much  dignity 
as  ii  he  were  her  footman  instead  of  her  brother ;  and 
Owen  ushered  them  promptly  into  the  bright  little  draw- 
ing-room. 

Mr.  Gardener,  with  the  gardenia,  was,  like  Paul,  the 
chief  speaker.  To  be  sure,  he'd  never  met  Blackbird 
before,  that  was  clear,  nor  had  his  friend  either.  They 
both  bowed  distantly  with  a  certain  awed  respect  as  they 
took  their  seats,  and  as  Blackbird  introduced  them  in- 
formally to  the  remainder  of  the  company.  But  for  a 
minute  or  two  they  talked  society  small-talk  about  flats 
in  general,  and  this  flat  in  particular,  without  explaining 
the  special  business  that  had  brought  them  there  that 
afternoon.  They  began  well,  i:ideed,  by  adn^'ring  every- 
thing ill  the  room,  from  floor  to  ceiling.  But  Owen 
noticed  now,  somewhat  appeased,  that  in  spite  of  their 
hats  and  coats  they  were  distinctly  nervous.  They 
seemed  to  have  something  they  wanted  to  say,  without 
being  able  to  muster  up  the  needful  courage  for  say- 
ing it. 

At  last  the  man  with  the  gardenia  ventured  to  turn  to 
Blackbird  with  a  point-blank  remark : 

'  I  dare  say  you're  wondering,  Miss  Braithwaite,  what 
made  ue  come  to  call  upon  you.' 

'  Well,  I  confess,'  Blackbird  said  languidly,  in  that 
rich,  clear  voice  of  hers, '  I  did  rather  ask  myself  what 
on  earth  you  wanted  with  ma' 


91  UNDER  SBALED  ORDERS 

Mr.  TroTor  Garde:ier  paused,  and  looked  straight  into 
her  big  eyee.  He  was  more  nervous  than  ever ;  but  he 
made  a  clean  breast  of  it. 

'  I'm  at  the  Stock  Exchange,'  he  said  at  last,  after  a 
long-drawn  interval  '  In  point  of  fact,  I'm  .  .  .  I'm  a 
broker.' 

'  That's  bad  1'  lend  put  in,  with  a  twinkling  eye  full  of 
mischief. 

Mr.  Gardener  turned  full  upon  her  a  look  of  most 
obvious  relief.    His  face  brightened  visibly. 

'Why,  just  80,'  he  said,  more  at  his  ease.    *  That's 

frecisely  what  I  always  say  myself.     That's  the  reason 
've  come.    A  stockbroker's  bad.    Most  useless  exores- 
oence  on  the  community,  a  stockbroker.' 

'Exactly,'  Sacha  interposed,  with  her  grave,  quiet 
Toice.  '  A  middleman  who  performs  no  good  service  of 
any  sort.' 

Mr.  Gardener  brightened  still  more. 

'  Ah,  there  it  is,  you  see,'  he  answered,  rubbing  hii 
hands  together,  well  pleased.  '  I  feel  it  myself,  and  so 
does  Stokes,  who's  a  barrister.  He  feels  the  Bar's  a 
fraud.  That's  what  emboldened  us  to  come.  We're 
weighed  down  by  a  sense  of  our  own  utter  useless* 
ness.' 

'  A  very  hopeful  symptom,'  Sacha  responded,  smilingi 
*  Conviction  of  sin  comes  first,  repentance  afterwards. 
But  how  did  you  happen  to  hear  of  us  T 

Mr.  Gardener  pulled  up  his  shirt-collar  and  rearranged 
his  cuffs  to  hide  nis  embarrassment. 

'  Well,'  we've  the  pleasure  of  knowing  Mr.  Braith- 
waite,'  he  answered  very  tentatively. 

'  Oh,  indeed  1'  Blackbird  replied,  in  a  tone  which 
showed  clearly  that  acquaintance  with  her  father  was  no 
particular  introduction  to  her. 

'  In  business  1'  Mr.  Gardener  interposed  deferentially, 
as  who  would  deprecate  her  criticism.  '  And  we're 
musical — very  musical  We  hoped  on  that  ground,  at 
least — though  perhaps  we're  intruding.' 

And  he  glanced  at  Owen,  who  sat,  silent,  on  the 
defensive. 

*  Slot  at  all,'  Owen  answered,  mnoh  mystified,  though 


lONft  IN  BNGLAND  91 

^vlih  no  Tory  good  grace.  <  We're  pleased,  Pm  sine,  to  lee 
yeiL' 

*  Well,  we  were  dining  at  Mr.  Braithwaite'f  clab  with 
him  kst  night/  the  man  with  the  gardenia  went  on,  look- 
ing askance  at  Blackbird,  who  sat  in  the  long  chair 
toying  languidly  with  a  fan,  'and  he  happened  to  mention 
this  compound  household  of  yours,  and  what  persons 
composed  it.  And  it  interested  us  very  much,  because 
we've  both  sung  your  songs,  Miss  Braithwaite,  and  both 
loved  your  music ;  and  we've  read  Miss  Dracopoli's 
delightful  tale  on  Morocco  in  the  Bi-monthly  Beview  with 
very  great  int>erest ;  and  we've  admired  Miss  Cazalet's 
Greek  girls  at  the  Academy.  And  though  Mr.  Braith- 
waite gave  us,  perhaps,  a  somewhat  unfavourable  version 
of  your  aims  and  ideas — indeed,  threw  cold  water  upon 
them — I  may  venture  to  say  we  sympathized  with  your 
desire  for  a  simpler  mode  of  life.'  He  glanced  down  at 
his  spotless  shoes  with  a  sort  of  mute  deprecation,  and 

Eew  more  inarticulate  still  as  the  subject  closed  in  upon 
m.  '  In  point  of  fact,'  he  went  on,  growing  red  aiid 
■tammering  worse  than  ever,  *  we  both  admired  you  all 
lor  it  immensely.' 

*  And  so?'  Sacha  said  interrogatively. 

'And  so '  Mr.  Gardener  went  on,  looking  at  his 

friend  for  assistance.  'Now  then,  you  help  me  out, 
Henley  1' 

Mr.  Stokes,  thus  dragged  into  it,  grew  red  in  the  face 
in  turn,  and  responded  in  his  place : 

'  Well,  Trevor  said  to  me,  "  It's  a  shame,  if  these  ladies 
want  to  start  a  new  household  on  rational  principles  like 
that,  they  should  have  to  do  all  the  rough  work  of  the 
house  themselves,  isn't  it,  Henley  ?"  And  I  said :  "  So 
it  seems.  It's  not  woman's  place  to  bear  the  brunt  of 
hard  work.  I  wonder  what  they'd  say,  now,  if  you  and 
I  were  to  step  round  and  assure  them  of  our — well,  our 
Bvmpathy  with  them  in  this  new  departure,  and  ask  'em 
if  they'd  allow  us  to  call  in  every  morning — before  they 
got  up,  don't  you  know — without  necessarily  meeting 
them  or  knowing  them  socially  at  all— just  to  light  the 
fires,  and  clean  the  grates,  and  black  the  boots,  and 
polish  the  knives,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing."    And 


H  UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 

Trevor  said,  "  Capital  1"  And  bo  we  decided  we'd  ask. 
And  now — well,  now,  if  yon  please,  we've  come  romid  to 
ask  yon.' 

Sacha  looked  at  lone.  lone  looked  at  Sacha.  Black- 
bird looked  at  both.  And  then  all  three  together  burst 
out  laughing  unanimously. 

That  laugh  saved  the  fort. 

Owen  joined  in,  and  so  did  the  young  men,  who 
really  seemed,  after  all,  like  very  good  fellows.  They 
laughed  for  twenty  seconds  without  answering  a 
word. 

Thei«  Sacha  mustered  up  gravity  enough  to  say,  with  a 
little  burst : 

*  But,  you  see,  we  don't  know  you  I' 

'Oh,  we're  very  respectable,'  Mr.  Gardener  put  in, 
gazing  down  at  ms  gardenia.  <  In  fact,  that's  just  it ; 
we're  a  great  deal  too  respectable.  This  monotony  palls. 
And  we  thought  it  so  brave  of  you  to  attempt  an  innova- 
tion. We  can  give  excellent  references,  too,  you  know 
— in  the  City  or  elsewhere.  My  friend's  an  Oxford 
man;  I'm  a  partner  myself  in  Wilson,  Gardener,  and 
Isenberger — ^very  well-known  house.  Eve's  Court,  Old 
Broad  Street.' 

And  he  folded  one  gloved  hand  somewhat  beseechingly 
over  the  other. 

'  But  cracking  the  coal,  you  know  ?'  lond  suggested, 
with  a  merry  twinkle.  '  You  couldn't  do  that,  now,  could 
you,  with  those  light  kid  gloves  on  ?' 

Mr.  Gardener  began  hastily  to  remove  one  of  the  in- 
criminating articles  with  little  nervous  tugs. 

*  Oh,  they  come  off,  you  know,'  he  answered,  with  a 
still  deeper  blush.  '  They  don't  grow  there,  of  course. 
They're  mere  separable  accidents.  And,  besides,  we're  so 
anxious  to  help.  And  we  know  Mr.  Braithwaite.  We 
can  get  letters  of  introduction — oh,  just  dozens  of  them, 
if  you  want  them.' 

'  But  we  thought  it  best,'  Mr.  Stokes  interposed, '  to  call 
at  once,  and  strike  while  the  iron  was  hot ;  for  we  were 
afraid — well,  like  the  fellow  at  the  pool  of  Siloam,  don't 
▼on  know :  while  we  waited,  some  other  might  step  in 
before  Oft* 


! 


lONft  IN  BNGX^AND  ^ 

8aohft  was  practical  She  was  also  not  too  afraid  of 
saying  what  she  felt. 

•  The  best  thing,'  she  suggested,  after  »  moment's  reflec- 
tion, looking  the  facts  in  the  face,  *  would  be  for  you  both 
to  stop  to  tea  and  help  us  get  it.  Then  we  might  see  how 
far  you're  likely  to  suit  the  place,  and  whether  we  can 
avail  ourselves  or  not  of  your  very  kind  offer.' 

'That's  capital  1'  Mr.  Henley  Stokes  replied,  looking 
across  at  his  friend,  and  peeling  his  gloves  off  instantly. 
*  If  you  try  us,  I'm  sure  you'll  find  we're  not  such  a  bad 
sort,  after  all — not  such  duffers  as  we  look.  We're  handy 
men  about  a  house.  And  we're  tired  of  being  no  use  in 
the  world  to  anybody  anywhere.' 

And,  indeed,  before  tea  was  over  and  dinner  well 
cooked,  the  two  young  men  had  succeeded  in  making 
themselves  so  useful,  so  agreeable,  and  so  ornamental  as 
well,  that  even  Owen's  first  prejudice  died  away  by  degrees, 
and  he  voted  them  both  very  decent  fellows. 

lond  remarked  in  an  audible  aside  that  they  were 
bricks ;  and  Sacha  declared  with  candour  they  could  do 
more  than  she  fancied. 

In  the  end,  it  was  unanimously  agreed  the  community 
should  accept  their  proffered  services  for  the  present,  and 
during  good  behaviour,  and  that  they  might  begin  if  they 
liked  by  lighting  the  fires  and  blacking  the  boots  at  half- 
past  six  next  morning. 

'  Hooray,  Trev  I'  Mr.  Stokes  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of 
triumph,  looking  across  at  his  friend.  'This  is  some- 
thing like  progress  i     This  is  better  than  stockbroking.' 

•  I'm  sure  we're  very  much  obliged  to  you  indeed,'  Mr. 
Gardene  added,  with  a  cheerful  glance  at  a  coal  mark  on 
his  othe^  wise  spotless  cuff.  <  And  to  show  you  we've  no 
intention  of  intruding  upon  you  in  any  way  beyond  what's 
strictly  necessary  in  the  way  of  br^iness ' — he  took  up  his 
hat  as  hit  spoks— '  we'll  now  b.d  jou  good-evening^' 


0 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDEKS 


CHAPTER  XV. 

AN  HrVITATION. 

In  a  week  or  two  it  was  clear  to  the  memb«n  of  th« 
phalanstery  the  young  men  with  the  frockooats  were  an 
unmitigated  success.  '  Our  Boys,'  as  lonS  called  them, 
turned  out  trumps  in  every  way.  In  spite  of  their  kid 
gloves  and  their  buttonhole  bouquets,  they  weren't  afraid 
of  hard  work,  but  buckled  to  with  a  will  at  the  rough 
jobs  of  the  household.  As  a  rule,  indeed,  the  joint  mis- 
tresses of  the  flat  saw  little  or  nothing  of  their  amateur 
manservants.  They  went  to  bed  at  night,  leaving  the 
ashes  in  the  grates,  and  their  shoes  at  their  doors,  and 
woke  in  the  morning  to  find  everything  cleared  up,  the 
rooms  well  warmed,  and  the  house  swept  and  garnished 
as  if  by  friendly  fairies.  To  be  sure,  this  arrangement 
necessitated  the  entrusting  of  a  latch-key  to  Mr.  Gar- 
dener, the  head-servant  of  the  two — a  step  as  to  the 
wisdom  and  desirability  of  which  Sacha  at  first  somewhat 
hesitated.  But  the  young  men  were  so  modest,  so  good- 
natured,  so  unobtrusive,  and  so  kindly  withal,  that  they 
very  soon  felt  sure  they  were  perfectly  trustworthy.  Ag 
Blackbird  remarked,  they  were  too  simple-hearted  to 
make  it  worth  while  sticking  at  conventions  on  their  ac- 
count. Mrs.  Grundy  was  not  evolved  for  such  as  they 
were. 

Still,  though  the  girls  saw  *Our  Boys'  but  at  rare 
intervals,  when  those  willing  slaves  loitered  late  over  the 
fires,  or  when  the  locks  got  out  of  order,  or  when  the 
windows  wanted  cleaning,  common  gratitude  compelled 
them  from  time  to  time  to  ask  their  benefactors  in  to 
afternoon  tea,  that  mildest  and  most  genial  of  London 
entertainments.  The  young  men  themselves,  to  be  sure, 
protested  with  fervour  that  such  politenesses  were  un- 
necessary ;  it  was  for  the  sake  of  the  principle  they  came, 
they  said,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  persons.  Yet  from  a 
Tery  early  period  of  their  acquaintance  Sacha  fancied  she 
noticed  Mr.  Henley  Stokes  betrayed  a  distinct  liking  for 
fiUokbird'f  Booiety;  while  Mr.  Gardener,  with  the  gar^ 


AN  INVITATIOll 


f7 


tht 


^miak  (a  point  of  bonoor  to  the  lastV,  paid  partimilar 
attention,  she  observed,  if  not  to  herself,  at  least  to  her 
pictures.  A  nice,  honest  young  man,  Mr.  Gardener,  aft 
least,  and  as  unlike  as  possible  to  Sacha's  preoonceiTol 
idea  of  the  eternal  and  absolute  typical  stockbroker. 

So  she  said  to  herself,  indeed,  one  day,  when  from  tha 
recesses  of  Mr.  Gardener's  light  overcoat,  hung  up  in  tb^ 
hall,  there  tumbled  by  accident  a  small  rusHia-leathei'- 
bound  volume.  Mr.  Gardener,  with  a  blush,  tried  to  pick 
it  up  unobserved  and  smuggle  it  back  into  its  place  again; 
but  Sacha's  eye  was  too  quick  for  him.  8he  read  in  a 
snoment  the  gilt  lettering  on  the  back. 

'  Why,  it's  poetry  1'  she  exclaimed  in  silipria?^  *  It'a 
iS^eats  I    What  do  you  do  with  him  ?' 

Mr.  Gardener  stammered  like  a  schoolboy  discoTored 
in  the  flagrant  crime  of  conceahng  a  cribi 

<  I_er— I  read  him,'  he  answered,  after  a  brief  paOM^ 
with  much  obvious  confusion. 

'  In  the  City  ?'  Sacha  asked,  smiling. 

Mr.  Gardener  plucked  op  ooQiage  at  her  smile  to  eo^ 
fess  the  shameful  truth. 

'  Well,  a  stockbroker,  you  know,'  he  said,  '  has  w> 
much  time  hanging  idle  on  his  hands  when  there's 
nothing  going  on  in  his  office,  and  it's  such  an  unsatis- 
factory sort  of  trade  at  the  best,  and  you  feel  it  does  yon 
no  good  either  spiritually  or  physicallv,  or  anybody  else, 
either,  for  the  matter  of  that ;  so  in  the  intervals  of  my 
work  I  try — er — I  try  to  develop,  as  far  as  I  can,  my  own 
higher  nature.  And  in  the  mornings  I  come  here  to 
light  the  fires  and  all  that ;  and  in  the  evenings  I  go 
down  to  my  boys  and  girls  at  Stepney.' 

'  What's  that?'  Sacha  asked  quickly,  catching  the  hini 
at  once.    *  I  haven't  heard  about  them  yet.' 

Mr.  Gardener  looked  modest  again. 

'  Oh,  a  fellow  must  do  something,  yon  know,'  he  said, 
'  just  to  justify  his  existenoa  And  as  I'm  well  off,  and 
strong  and  healthy  and  all  that,  and  society  does  so  much 
for  me,  I  feel  bound  in  return  to  give  a  helping  hand  with 
those  poor  East-End  people  of  mine,  both  in  the  way  of 
organization  and  in  the  way  of  amusement' 

Baoha  kwked  al  him  mtii  soma  admiration.    ThsM 

? 


J 


■! 


98 


UNDBR  SEALED  ORDBSB 


ii 

II 


wfts  a  sturdy  honesty  of  purpose  about  this  modest  yonnfl 
man  that  touched  her  Eussian  heart  to  the  core.  And 
she  liked  his  reading  Keats,  too ;  it  was  a  point  in  hia 
favour.  For  he  wasn't  the  least  bit  namby-pamby  with 
it  all,  in  spite  of  his  blushes  and  his  light  kid  gloves. 
She  could  see  when  he  talked  about  his  gymnasium 
at  Stepney,  a  few  days  later,  that  he  was  a  tolerable 
athlete;  and  he  cleaned  grates  find  split  coal  like  no 
working  man  in  London.  When  he  proposed  to  lone  that 
she  and  Sacha  and  Blackbird  should  come  down  to  his 
hall  at  Stepney  one  evening  to  teach  his  lads  to  dance, 
they  were  all  delighted ;  and  when  they  went  there,  and 
found  themselves  among  these  rough  East-End  young 
men,  lonS,  at  least,  thought  it  as  jolly  good  fun  as  any 
Belgravia  ball-room. 

'  You  see,  miss,'  her  first  partner  explained  to  her,  in  a 
confidential  undertone,  '  we  chaps  learns  this  sort  o' 
thing  a  sight  better  from  a  lady  than  from  our  own  young 
women.  Ladies  doesn't  larf  at  us;  and  a  chap  don't 
like  to  be  larfed  at.  Our  own  gals,  they  calls  us  "  Now 
then,  clumsy,"  and  all  such  sorb  o'  names.  But  a  lady'i 
more  patient-like.  You  shows  us  the  steps,  and  we  can 
pay  more  attention  then,  coz  we  knows  you  ain't  a-larfing 
at  us.' 

*  There's  nothing  to  laugh  at,'  lonS  answered  gravely, 
surveying  her  stalwart  young  ccstermonger  with  not  un- 
approving eyes.  *  We  aU  have  to  begin.  I  had  to  begin 
myself  once.  And  as  for  laughing,  you  should  have  seen 
how  the  people  laughed  at  me  over  yonder  in  Moroooo 
when  first  I  dressed  up  in  Moorish  costume,  like  my 
picture  in  the  paper  there,  and  tried  to  ride  as  a  man, 
does !  I  laughed  at  myself,  for  that  matter,  till  I  thought 
I  should  never  catch  my  breath  again.' 

And  she  smiled  at  him  bo  sweetly  that  that  young 
ccstermonger  went  horns  perfectly  sober  that  night,  and 
talked  to  his  '  gal '  about  the  faces  of  the  angels  in 
heaven,  which  naturally  made  his  young  woman  jealous, 
for  she  knew  at  once  where  the  unwonted  suggestion  had 
oome  from. 

Sc  for  four  oi  five  weeks  events  at  the  flat  went  oa 


4 


•'4. 


AN  INVITATION  §# 

emoothly  enough,  and  Trevor  ;prardcner  and  Henley 
Stokes  grew  gradually  on  the  footing  of  friends  of  the 
family.  They  even  ventured  to  drop  in  of  an  evening, 
when  Sacha's  work  was  done,  and  lone  had  washed  up 
the  dinner-things,  to  accompany  Blackbird  in  one  of  her 
own  plaintive  songs,  or  to  read  Austin  Dobson  and  Lang 
to  the  assembled  household.  They  introduced  Hope  in- 
deed to  the  '  Ballade  of  Sleep  * ;  and  the  poor  girl  spent 
at  least  a  dozen  wakeful  nights  in  composing  apt  music 
between  the  clanging  hours  for  that  congenial  dirge  ol 
dead  and  buried  slumber. 

At  the  end  of  that  time,  however,  an  event  occurred 
which  stirred  the  deep  heart  of  the  flat  to  its  profoundest 
recesses.  Owen  came  up  one  day  from  Moor  Hill,  glad 
of  so  good  an  excuse,  with  a  letter  from  Lady  Beaumont, 
just  received  by  post  at  the  Bed  Cottage. 

So  gracious  a  letter  from  the  county  member's  wife  set 
them  all  wondering  what  on  earth  the  great  lady  could 
want  with  them. 

'  Mtdbab  Mb.  CAZALST,'it  began  ('Quite  affectionate,' 
lonS  said,  shaking  out  her  chestnut  locks  round  her  head) 
— 'My  dear  Mr.  Cazalet,  Sir  Arthur  wishes  me  very 
particularly  to  write  and  ask  you  whether  you  could  come 
up  to  my  At  Home  on  Wednesday  next,  for  which  I  en- 
close a  card  for  you  and  your  dear  sister.  We  expect 
Lord  Caistor ;  and  as  I  know  your  desire  to  enter  the 
diplomatic  service,  it  can  do  no  harm  to  make  his  ao- 
quaintance  beforehand.  Several  of  our  artistic  friends 
are  so  anxious  to  meet  Sacha,  too;  and  that,  as  you 
know,  may  be  of  use  to  her  in  future.  One  should 
always  make  frionds  of  the  Mammon  of  Unrighteousness 
as  represented  on  the  Hanging  Committee.  And  if  you 
could  persuade  her  two  companions.  Miss  Draoopoli  and 
Miss  Braithwaite,  to  come  with  you  both,  we  should  be 
BO  very  much  obliged  to  you.  Many  of  our  young  men 
want  BO  much  to  know  them.  Apologize  for  me  to 
Sacha ;  I  would  have  written  to  her  direct,  but  I  don't 
know  the  address  of  this  fail.ous  joint-stock  flat  of  bars 
that  everybody's  talking  about,    it's  made  quite  ft  senea* 


UNDER  SBAX^ED  ORDERS 


tion  among  the  advanced  woman's  rights  ^omen.    Thoy 
gay  it  marks  an  epoch. 

*  In  breathless  haste, 

*  Tours  very  sincerely, 

'Anastasia  Beaumont.* 


'  She  wants  to  honize  as,'  lond  cried,  looking  up  with 
her  very  onleonine  soft  round  face, '  and  I  refuse  to  bo 
lionized !' 

'I  never  will  sing  in  houses  where  I'm  asked  on 
purpose,'  little  Blackbird  said  wearily.  <  It's  a  rudeness 
to  ask  one  just  for  what  they  think  they  can  get  out  of 
one.' 

'But  what  a  clever  woman  of  the  world  she  is  I' 
Sacha  put  in,  with  a  w'ne  smile.  '  She  doesn't  say  a 
word  about  what  she  wants  herself,  but  what  she  thinks 
will  attract  us  on  the  ground  of  our  own  interest.  Lord 
Caibtor  for  Owen,  possible  patrons  for  me,  admiration  for 
you  two — it's  really  very  sharp  of  her.' 

•  For  my  part,'  Owen  interposed,  with  a  side  glance  at 
lond  in  her  dainty  girlish  beauty,  '  I  think  what  they 
want  is,  first,  the  girl  who  rode  through  Morocco  alone, 
and,  second,  to  be  polite  to  a  possible  future  constituent.' 

*  The  question  is,  shall  we  go  ?'  Sacha  asked,  always 
practical.  '  Apart  altogether  from  their  motives,  is  11 
worth  our  while  to  accept,  or  isn't  it  ?' 

'Will  you  go?'  lonS  asked,  turning  point-blank  to 
Owen. 

<  wen  felt  his  heart  throb.  Oh,  Mr.  Hayward,  Mr. 
Hayward,  this  girl  will  be  too  much  for  you  I 

'xes,  I  think  so,'  he  said  slowly,  'to  see  Lord 
Gaistor.' 

'Then  I  think  I'll  go,  too,'  lond  answered,  with  a 
burst.  'After  all,  it'll  be  fun,  and  I  love  these  big 
crushes.  You  always  find  somebody  you  can  shock  in 
them  somewhere.  If  I  was  to  go  in  my  Moorish 
eostume,  now — just  fancy  what  a  success  I  How  Lady 
Beaumont  would  bless  me  I    It'd  b(3  in  all  the  papers.' 

Owen's  heart  beat  higher  still.  He  knew  lond  wanted 
to  go  because  lit  would  take  her.  And  it  nade  him  feel 
■0  happy- and  to  Tery,  very  miserable.    What  would 


■y.l 


AT  LADY  BBAUMONrS 


loz 


Mr.  Hayward  say  if  only  he  knew?  Bat  if  tlUt  ihb 
metal  of  which  to  mould  a  revolutionist  ? 

For  to  Owen  the  Cause  was  a  very  real  and  a  Tery 
■acred  thing.  And  he  was  imperilling  its  future,  he  knew 
but  too  well— for  the  sake  of  a  woman. 

They  talked  much  that  afternoon,  and  hazarded  many 
guesses  as  to  why  Lady  Beaumont  had  bidden  them  all 
to  her  At  Homa  But  not  one  of  them  came  anywhere 
near  the  real  reason  of  her  invitation.  For  the  truth  was 
that  Madame  Mireff  had  said,  in  the  most  casual  way, 
though  with  a  sudden  magnetic  glance  of  those  great 
luminous  eyes  of  hers,  *  I  wish,  Anastasia,  you'd  ask  that 
Sacha  Somebody  when  you  have  me  next  at  your  house. 
Her  name  puzzles  me  so  much.  I  want  to  hunt  her  up. 
I  muBt  get  to  the  bottom  of  it' 


OHAPTBB  XVI, 

AT  LADT  BBAUUONT'B. 

*  Tou'ts  heard  of  Prince  Burio  Brassoff,'  Sir  Arthur  was 
half  whispering  to  a  thin  little  lady  by  his  side  as  Sacha 
wedged  her  way  into  an  unobtrusive  corner,  '  the  famous 
leader  of  the  Nihilists?  You  remember;  five  hundred 
thousand  roubles  set  upon  his  head.  Well,  they  say 
■he's  in  England  now  on  purpose  to  ferret  him.' 

'  And  if  she  found  him  ?'  the  thin  little  lady  suggested 
in  reply ;  '  she  couldn't  do  anything  to  him  here.' 

Sir  Arthur  shrugged  his  shoulders.  It  was  a  foreign 
trick  he'd  picked  up  in  Vienna  when  he  was  a  military 
attache. 

'Not  openly,'  he  answered,  with  A  dry  little  laugh. 
'  But  poison,  perhaps ;  or  a  knife — these  Bussians  are  so 
ttnscrupulous.' 

Saoha's  calm  eyes  flashed  fire ;  for  she  could  remember 
Petersburg  still,  and  her  martyred  father.  But  she 
followed  the  direction  which  both  their  glances  took,  and 
■he  saw  a  large-built  woman  with  very  fully-developed 
oharms,  who  was  talking  witb  graAt  Koimation  and  wid«- 


II 


1 1 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


open  eyes  to  Lord  Caistor  by  the  mantelpiece.  Saoh« 
had  never  seen  the  Cabinet  Minister  before,  to  be  sure, 
but  she  recognised  him  at  once  from  the  caricatures  in 
Punch  and  the  photographs  in  the  shop- windows.  Or, 
at  least,  if  not  the  famous  man  himself,  at  any  rate  hia 
still  more  famous  eyeglass.  As  for  the  lady  who  was 
chattering  with  him,  a  flash  of  intuition  told  her  somehow, 
by  the  aid  of  Sir  Arthur's  words,  it  could  be  none  other 
than  Madame  Mireff,  the  Bussian  spy  or  unaccredited 
agent,  currently  believed  to  exert  so  curious  an  influence 
on  Lord  Caistor  himself,  and  on  that  mysterious  entity, 
his  foreign  policy. 

'  The  Prince  is  very  rich,  isn't  he?*  the  thin  little  lady 
by  Sir  Arthur's  side  asked  curiously. 

*  Was  r  Sir  Arthur  corrected.  '  He  had  millions  at  one 
time.  But  he  flung  away  half  his  fortune  on  thf>  Cause 
years  and  years  ago  ;  and  the  other  half  the  Government 
very  wisely  seized  and  employed  in  suppressing  it.' 

'  And  is  he  known  to  be  in  England  at  all  ?'  the  thin 
little  lady  went  on,  looking  sideways  at  the  presumed 
Madame  Mireff. 

Sir  Arthur  shrugged  his  shoulders  again. 

*  How  should  I  know  ?'  he  answered,  with  a  laugh. 
'  Quien  sabe  ?  Quien  sabe  ?  Prince  Buric  Brassofii'  takes 
jolly  good  care,  you  may  be  sure,  to  keep  well  out  of  the 
way.  He  works  like  a  mole  underground.  I'm  told, 
indeed,  it's  fifteen  years  since  his  own  Nihilist  friends 
even  have  ever  set  eyes  on  him.' 

'  Then,  lew  do  they  know  he's  alive  ?'  the  lady  asked, 
with  languid  interest. 

'  Ah,  that's  just  the  odd  part  of  it,'  Sir  Arthur  replied, 
still  gazing  across  at  the  stranger  with  his  big  speaking 
eyes.  'They  say,  though  nobody  ever  sees  him,  he's 
still  the  active  head  of  all  the  party  in  Western  Europe, 
and  the  Bussian  Government  has  constantly  of  late  years 
intercepted  letters  and  docun^ents  signed  in  his  hand* 
writing.  But  if  he's  to  be  found  at  all,  you  may  be 
perfectly  sure  Madame  Mireff  will  find  him.  She's  keen 
as  a  bloodhound,  persistent  m  a  beagle.  Bhe'i  olevar 
enough  for  anything.' 

Saoha  roM  and  moved  nnobtrusively  MroM  the  roon 


•ut^ 


AT  LADY  BKAVMONTS  W$ 

to  Owen,  who  was  standing  with  lond  near  the  doorway, 
in  the  opposite  corner^  She  had  just  time  to  mormur 
low  to  him  in  Bussian  ; 

'  Owen,  beware  of  the  woman  who's  talking  there  to 
Lord  Gaistor.  She's  a  spy  of  the  Czar's.  She's  come 
oyer  here  to  look  for  some  Nihihst  refugee.' 

And  even  as  these  words  escaped  her  lips,  Lady 
Beaumont  sidled  across  to  her. 

'  Oh,  Sacha,  my  child,'  she  said,  quite  affectionately, 
taking  her  hand  with  much  warmth,  like  a  good  society 
hostess,  '  I'm  so  glad  you've  come.  There's  a  friend  of 
mine  here  who's  just  dying  to  know  you.  And  you  have 
brought  Miss  Dracopoli,  too,  I  see.  I  recognise  you. 
Miss  Dracopoli,  by  your  likeness  in  the  Graphic.  How 
good  of  you  to  come  round  to  my  little  gathering  1  I 
know  you're  so  much  engaged — everybody  fighting  for 
you  just  at  present,  of  course — the  tail  end  of  the  season  1 
Gome  over  this  way  with  me,  and  I'll  introduce  you  to 
Lord  Gaistor.  And  you  must  come  too,  Owen.  Madame 
MirefF — one  moment — excuse  my  interrupting  you.  This 
is  the  clever  young  artist  whose  picture  you  admired  so 
much  at  the  Academy  the  other  day — Miss  Cazalet,  Mr. 
Gazalet.' 

Owen  bowed  low  with  an  awkward  feeling  of  unwonted 
restraint.  Never  before  in  his  life  had  he  stood  face  to 
face  with  an  avowed  enemy  of  the  Gause — one  of  the 
bureaucratic  ring — and  he  felt  at  once  the  novelty  and 
difficulty  of  the  position.  As  for  Sacha,  she  held  herself 
very  erect  and  proud,  hardly  nodding  her  head ;  but  her 
breath  came  and  went,  and  her  face  lushed  crimson. 

'I'm  glad — my  work — interested  you,'  she  said,  with 
an  evident  effort. 

She'd  have  given  millions  to  get  away ;  the  strain  and 
stress  of  it  was  horribla 

But  Madame  Mireff  only  beamed  upon  her  with  those 
famous  soft  eyes,  and  said,  with  real  kmdness  of  tone : 

*  Yes,  it  was  beautiful — beautiful.  I  picked  it  out  at 
once  from  all  the  pictures  in  the  room.  It  had  soul  in  it 
— soul  in  it.  It  went  sU^aight  to  my  Bussian  heart ;  for 
you  know  Miss  Gazalet,  I'm  before  all  things  a  Bussian, 
and  everything  about  Bussia  always  thrilU  me  to  the 


X04 


UNDBR  SBALBD  0RDBR8 


finger-tipt.  We  Slavs  feel  the  magic  of  our  oommoB 
Slavonio  ancestry  far  more,  I  believe,  than  any  Western 
people.  Bussia  holds  us  by  some  spelL  Cela  notu 
entraine.    Cela  nous  fascine.' 

Owen  opened  his  eyes  wide  at  this  unexpected  pro- 
fession of  faith — ^the  enthusiasm  with  which  Madame 
spoke  reminded  him  so  exactly  of  Mr.  Hayward's  own 
in  his  moments  of  deepest  patriotic  fervour.  Was  it 
possible,  then,  that  these  bureaucrats  even — ^the  despots, 
the  enemy — shared  that  same  unquenchable  Slavonio 
zeal  that  burned  bright  like  a  fire  in  the  friends  of  the 
Cause— the  lovers  of  their  country  ? 

But  Sacha  only  answered  coldly,  in  her  very  driest 
voice : 

*  I  fail  to  perceive  the  connection  yon  draw  between 
my  picture  and  Bussia.' 

Madame  glanced  back  at  her,  all  motherliness,  with 
kind  melting  eyes,  in  spite  of  this  first  rebnJSi  Her 
glance  was  mesmeric. 

'  Why,  surely,'  she  said,  exerting  every  spell  she  knew, 
'  the  spirit  at  least — ^the  spirit  is  pure  inussian.  I  cried 
out  to  Lady  Beaumont  the  momont  I  saw  it,  **  There's 
Slav  in  that  canvas  t"  and  Lady  Beaumont  answered  me, 
"  Oh,  that's  Sacha  Gazalet's  picture."  So  when  I  heard 
your  name  was  Sacha,  of  course  I  took  it  for  granted  at 
once  that  your  mother  at  least  must  have  been  more  or 
less  of  a  Russian.' 

'  You're  mistaken,'  Sacha  *  ^plied,  in  the  same  hard, 
dry  tone.  '  My  mother,  on  the  contrary,  was  m  pure- 
blooded  EngUshwoman.' 

'  Your  father,  then  ?'  Madame  suggested  qniokly. 

Sacha  parried  the  blow  at  once. 

'  Beally,'  she  said, '  I  don't  admit  my  genealogical  tree 
has  anything  at  all  to  do  with  my  pictures.' 

Madame  left  the  false  track  sharply  with  a  diplo- 
matist's instinct. 

'  Well,  the  painting's  a  lovely  one,  at  any  rate,'  she 
said  sweetly, '  and  the  quaUties  in  it  that  struck  me  as 
Slavonic  are  at  least  qualities  of  high  ideahsm  and  pro- 
found moral  truth.  Whatever  race  inspires  them,  one 
surely  ean't  help  admiring  those,  Miss  Oaialei    There's 


AT  LADY  BEAirM0NT»8 


108 


A  freedom,  a  gracefulness,  a  vitality,  an  nnconvention- 
ality,  about  the  lithe  figures  of  your  beautiful  classical 
girls  that  took  my  fancy  immensely.  And  Aspasia 
herself — in  the  centre — what  a  soulful  conception  I  So 
vivid  and  intense  I  Like  our  best  Bussian  girls  nowa- 
days :  free  as  the  air,  keen  as  the  wind,  fresh  as  the 
morning  dew,  yet  capable,  one  oould  feel,  of  yielding  her 
iUfe  like  water  for  any  good  cause  that  in  after-days 
might  demand  it.' 

Owen  listened  astonished. 

The  voice  was  the  same,  though  the  words  were  so 
different.  Was  this  the  true  Bussian  note,  then  ?  La  vi» 
yntr  le  Tsar,  or  Death  for  Freedom  f 

Madame  drew  a  vacant  chair  to  her  8ide,and  motioned 
Saoha  into  it. 

Against  her  will,  as  if  drawn  by  some  Bpell,  Saoha  sat 
down,  burning  inwardly. 

Owen  stood  by  in  his  big  manliness,  and  bent  over 
them,  listening. 

Then  Madame  began  laying  herself  out  as  only  a 
trained  diplomatist  and  woman  of  the  world  could  have 
done  to  make  a  conquest  of  Saoha.  By  slow  degrees  she 
led  round  the  conversation  to  Sacha's  art  and  her  friends. 
She  discussed  lond  with  Owen,  praising  her  beauty 
enthusiastically ;  she  discussed  Burne-Jones  with  Sacha, 
finding  something  in  common  between  the  profounder 
Celtic  and  Slavonic  temperaments. 

Gradually,  bit  by  bit,  even  Sacha  gave  way.  She 
admitted  the  fascination  of  the  woman  who  had  talked 
over  Lord  Gaistor  and  changed  a  foreign  policy.  Her 
eonversation  was  so  easy,  so  alluring,  so  aimpatica. 

As  for  Owen,  he  bent  over  her,  entranced,  feeling  the 
nameless  attraction  to  a  lad  of  a  ripe  woman  of  the  world, 
ready  and  willing  to  deploy  all  her  manifold  charms  of 
body  and  mind  in  one  serried  phalanx  for  his  momentary 
eaptivation. 

lond  glanced  across  once  or  twice  from  her  artlessly 
girlish  self-revelation  to  that  amused  Lord  Caistor,  and 
felt  her  heart  give  a  jump  of  doubt  and  fear  within  her. 
That  horrid  great  Bussian  woman  with  the  big,  staring 
•yei  was  surely  too  muoh  for  any  lad  of  twenty. 


106 


UNDER  SBA:,ED  ORDERS 


n 


i 


What  struck  Owen  more  and  more,  however,  the  aior* 
freely  Madame  talked,  was  the  absolute  identity  (in  fibre) 
of  her  Eussian  enthusiasm  with  Mr.  Hayward's.  Though 
the  Bussia  of  which  she  spoke  was  the  Eussia  of  the 
tyrants,  yet  the  devotion  with  which  she  spoke  of  it  was 
the  devotion  of  the  patriots.  It  was  Czar  and  Empress 
against  Land  and  People.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  it  dawned  upon  Owen  faintly  that  what  he  had  here 
to  deal  with  was  in  essence  a  temperament.  Madame 
Mireff  and  Mr.  Hayward  saw  the  opposite  sides  of  the 
same  shield,  according  to  their  different  points  of  view, 
but  were  both  equally  vehement  and  intense  in  the  idea 
they  formed  of  it.  That's  Eussia  all  over.  Your  Slav 
is,  above  all  things,  a  dreamer  and  an  enthusiast. 

At  last,  after  much  long  and  cleverly-guided  discourse, 
Madame  had  succeeded  in  making  even  Sacha  herself 
admit  grudgingly  in  her  own  mind  that  the  Czar's  spy,  in 
her  private  capacity  at  any  rate,  was  an  extremely  agree- 
able, nay,  well-meaning  person.  She  had  a  rare  gift  of 
insi'nuating  herself  into  your  confidence,  somehow;  of 
taking  such  a  deep  interest  in  your  mind  and  your  feel- 
ings, that  you  couldn't  help  warming  up  in  the  end 
into  some  responsive  expansiveness.  Then,  suddenly,  in 
the  midst  of  her  easy-going  talk,  Madame  turned  round 
to  her  and  fixed  her  with  her  glittering  eye. 

'  In  fact,'  Rhe  said,  pouncing  upon  her  with  a  strange 
foreign  tongue,  'ae  our  Eussian  proverb  puts  it,  'The 
smooth-worn  stone  on  the  river's  bed  can  never  under- 
stand why  the  pebbles  on  the  bank  find  the  sun's  heat 
unpleasant." ' 

She  said  it  in  Eussian,  as  if  she  expected  to  be  under- 
stood ;  and  even  as  she  uttered  the  words,  she  fixed  her 
Eiercing  glance,  full  of  inquiry,  on  Sacha's  face.  Owen 
ent  over,  still  more  attentive,  wondering  whether,  thus 
attacked  by  so  unexpected  a  flank  movement,  Sacha — 
that  calm,  imperturbable  Sacha — would  be  taken  off  her 
guard  or  not.  But  the  phlegmatic  Slavonic  temperament, 
almost  Oriental  in  its  passivity,  stood  her  there  in  good 
■tead.  Sacha  never  moved  a  muscle  of  her  quiet  face,  or 
fiianged  colour  for  a  second. 

•  What  does  that  mean  ?'  she  asked  languidly.    *  WiB 


;: 


11 J 


AT  LADY  BEAUMONT'S 


lov 


you  kindly  transUte  for  us?  As  yet,  thank  heaven, 
Russian  isn't  added  to  German  and  French  as  a  necessary 
part  of  an  English  girl's  education.' 

Madame's  keen  eye  still  rested  on  her  like  a  hawk's. 
She  translated  it — wrong. 

*  "  The  polar  bear  wonders  the  grizzly  should  think  his 
climate  cold," '  she  answered,  with  a  bland  smile  of  child- 
like innocence. 

But  even  so,  Sacha  gave  no  sign.  Just  the  faintest 
tinge  of  a  contemptuous  curl  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth 
alone  betrayed,  if  at  all,  her  consciousness  of  the  at- 
tempted deception. 

'  Very  true,*  she  said  calmly ,  '  We  can  only  sympa- 
thize to  the  full  with  the  troubles  and  joys  we've  our- 
selves experienced.* 

Madame  gave  it  up  again  for  the  present.  This  girl 
was  too  deep  for  her.  It  was  only  at  the  end  of  the 
evening,  after  talking  to  many  of  her  willing  skves 
meanwhile,  that  the  unaccredited  agent  returned  to  the 
Gazalets  with  a  charming  smile  and  an  outstretched 
hand. 

*  Well,  good-night,*  she  said.  *  Au  revoir,  that  is — for 
I  must  meet  you  again.  You  remind  me  so  of  dear 
friends— dear  friends  of  mine  in  Bussia.  And  your 
brother — when  I  saw  him  it  gave  me  quite  a  little  start. 
.  .  .  He's  so  extraordinarily  like  poor  Sergius  Selistoff,  of 
Petersburg.* 

It  was  a  sharp  home-thrust — their  own  father's  name  I 
—but  Owen  hoped  he'd  avoided  it.  He  blushed  and 
bowed.  A  young  man  may  fairly  blush  when  his  personal 
appearance  is  under  discussion. 

'  Au  revoir,  then,*  he  said,  as  frankly  and  unconcernedly 
as  he  was  able.     '  It's  so  kind  of  you  to  put  it  so.* 

As  they  went  home  to  the  flat  in  the  cab,  an  unwonted 
■ilence  oppressed  lonS.  She  said  nothing  for  a  long 
time ;  then  at  last  she  observed,  with  much  seeming 
insoticiance : 

*  What  a  talk  you  had,  Owen,  with  that  fat  Madame 
Mireff  I  She's  handsome,  too,  isn't  she — even  now.  Must 
have  been  beautiful  when  she  was  young!  And  what 
iyes  Bhe  made  ^i  you,  and  how  Bhe  stuck  to  you  lik«  » 


hi 


;i. 


108  UNDER  8BAI,BD  ORDERS 

lesoh  I  It's  a  great  thing  to  be  six  feet  two — in  Bussift^ 
apparently !' 

But  at  that  self-same  moment,  Lady  Beaumont,  wearied 
out  with  the  duties  of  her  post,  was  saying,  with  a  yawn, 
to  her  friend  in  the  empty  drawing-room  : 

'  Well,  Olga,  I  hope  yon  found  out  what  yon  wanted/ 

And  Madame  Mireff  made  answer : 

'  Part,  at  least ;  not  quite  all.  That  is  to  say,  not  for 
certain.  They're  Bussian,  of  course,  as  Bussian  as  they 
can  stand ;  but  whether  they're  the  particular  people  X 
imagine  or  not,  I  don't  feel  quite  sure  just  yet  I  must 
make  further  inquiries.' 

'  Ton  won't  get  them  sent  to  Siberia,  I  trust,'  Lady 
Beaumont  said,  half  seriously ;  for  she  rather  liked  that 
big,  handsome  Owen. 

Madame  drew  back  a  step  and  surveyed  her  from  head 
to  foot  with  a  sort  of  innocent  surprise. 

'  Siberia  i'  she  repeated.  '  Siberia  I  Oh  dear,  that 
odious  calumny  1  That  ridiculous  misconception  !  Must 
I  explain  it  every  day  ?  Will  you  never  understand  us  ? 
Siberic  if  to  Bussia  what  Botany  Bay  was  once  to 
England.  We  send  our  criminals  there.  It's  a  penal 
settlement,  not  a  Bastille  nor  place  of  exile  for  political 
offenders.  But  you  English  will  never  give  us  credit  for 
anything  of  that  sort — never,  never,  never  I  That's  your 
thick-headed  Teutonism,  my  dear.  The  French  have 
more  esprit.  They  see  through  all  that  blague.  I  assure 
you,  Anastasia,  I  might  just  as  well  ask  you  not  to  let 
Lord  Gaistor  send  me,  without  reason  assigned,  to  PenU)B> 
yille  or  to  Portland.' 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

nr  VHB  OOXTBSB    3F   BUSINBSI. 

Mb.  Hatwabd  smiled  inwardly  when,  a  day  or  two  later, 
he  received  a  formal  note,  couched  in  the  third  person, 
stating  that  Madame  Mireff  would  be  much  obliged  if 
Messrs  Mortimer  and  Go.  would  kindly  appoint  an  hoar 
between  eleven  and  one  o'clock  on  Monday  next,  toe  her 


IN  THB  COURSB  OP  BUSINESS 


W9 


to  rik  for  her  photograph.  What  an  amusing  rencontre,  to 
be  sure,  between  those  two  in  such  a  relation  !  It  would 
interest  him  to  watch  how  Madame  was  doing  her  work, 
and  what  presence  of  mind  she  might  display  under 
peculisur  circumstances. 

He  had  heard,  of  course,  from  Owen  of  Madame's 
meeting  with  the  Gazalets  at  Lady  Beaumont's  ;  and  his 
first  remark  to  his  young  friend,  when  Owen  mentioned 
their  interview,  was  a  fervent  exclamation : 

*  1  hope  you  didn't  betray  any  repugnance  to  her  at 
first  sight,  as  one  of  the  tyrant's  instruments  ?  That's 
immensely  important.  You  must  learn  above  all  things, 
Owen,  when  you  come  to  mix  with  that  hateful  world, 
to  suppress  all  overt  signs  of  the  repulsion  it  begets  in 
you.' 

'  I  don't  think  I  did,  Mr.  Hayward,'  Owen  answered 
truthfully.  '  In  fact,  I  rather  flatter  myself  I  managed  to 
keep  my  feelings  perfectly  under  control.  My  face  was  a 
mask.  And  besides,  she  talked  so  nicely,  and  seemed  in 
many  ways  so  Bussian,  that  to  some  extent,  after  a  time 
—it  may  have  been  very  wrong,  but  do  you  know,  I 
almost  liked  her.' 

Mr.  Hayivard's  brow  darkened  a  little.  This  was  bad 
hearing  in  its  way.    Had  he  succumbed  so  readily  ? 

'She's  a  very  insinuating  woman,'  he  murmured  in 
reply ;  '  and  on  that  account  the  more  dangerous.  Be- 
member  always  in  this  world  the  influence  of  women  is 
a  thing  every  noble  cause  has  to  fight  against  strenuously. 
I  don't  say  they're  always  banded  against  every  good 
thing ;  our  own  society  has  receival  some  of  its  greatest 
aids  from  the  devotion,  the  heroism,  the  self-sacrifice  of 
women.  In  their  place,  they  count  for  much.  But  still, 
they're  a  disturbing  element  in  many  ways,  Owen — a  dis- 
turbing element.  Often  they  undermine  principles  that 
nothing  else  on  earth  could  conceivably  undermine.  You 
know,  my  boy,  I  don't  mean  to  preach  to  you ;  I  was 
never  a  humbug ;  and,  as  always,  I  prefer  to  let  your 
individuality  have  free  play  for  itself.  But  if  ever  you  see 
anything  more  of  Madame  Olga  Mireff,  I  would  say  to  you 
as  a  friend,  regarding  yon  now  as  a  fellow- worker  and 
•nthosiast  for  the  Cause,  my  advice  is  just  this :  Keeif 


IM 


UNDER  SEALED  OBDERS 


olear  of  entanglements,  were  it  for  practioe'  sake  only. 
Don't  begin  letting  women  twist  jou  once  round  theil 
lingers.  The  habit  of  yielding  to  them  grows  with  indul- 
gence :  it's  instinctive  in  our  virility  from  Adam  down- 
wards. Even  Samson  gave  way,  and  his  story's  a  parable 
of  the  Strong  Man  for  all  time.  What  no  force  can  over- 
come, no  hostile  power  destroy,  a  woman's  will  can  get 
over  all  too  easily.  .  .  .  And  now,  are  you  going  back  this 
afternoon  to  the  Bed  Cottage  ?' 

Owen  blushed  as  he  answered,  with  transparent  truth- 
fulness : 

'  Yes ;  but  I'm  going  first  to  take  tea  at  the  flat  with 
lone  and  Sacha.' 

Mr.  Hay  ward  held  his  peace.  That  ill  was  too  deep  for 
words,  a  harm  no  preacher  could  heal.  He  could  only 
hope  and  wish  Owen  might  be  delivered  from  so  great  a 
temptation.  After  all,  individualism  must  have  the  fullest 
scope.    We  can  but  guide  and  direct. 

'  And  we  Nihilists  at  least,'  he  thought  to  himself  with 
a  stifled  sigh,  '  have  no  groun(^  to  go  upon  if  we  are  nol 
in  all  things  consistent  individualists.' 

So,  at  the  appointed  hour,  when  Madame  Mireff  was 
to  visit  the  studio,  Mr.  Hayward,  already  divining  the 
cause  of  her  visit,  and  too  confident  of  his  own  strength 
not  to  disdain  weak  subterfuges,  made  the  running  easy 
for  her  by  setting  out  on  his  table  three  or  four  of  his 
Morocco  views,  with  Owen  conspicuously  posed  as  an 
accessory  in  the  foreground, 

Madame  Mire£f  arrived  to  the  minute,  and  was  shown 
up  at  once,  vid  the  lift,  to  the  upper  chamber,  very  high 
and  glass-roofed,  where  Mr.  Hayward  presided  over  the 
mysteries  of  his  art,  as  Mortimer  and  Co.,  of  Bond  Street. 

They  took  a  good  stare  at  one  another,  those  two,  as  a 
preliminary  investigation,  each  noting  many  small  points 
m  the  other's  external  characteristics,  before  either  spoke. 
Then  Madame  Mireff  said  sharply ; 

'  Are  you  Mi.  Mortimer  himself?  because  I  want  this 
photograph  to  be  particularly  good ;  and  if  it's  a  success 
you  can  expose  copies  of  it  for  'sale  in  the  shop* 
windows.' 

She  was  enough  of  a  celebrity  to  rentoro  upon  thai 


IN  THE  COURSE  OP  BUSINESS 


ttl 


bribe.  All  London  was  talking  just  then  of  the  beautiful, 
cunning  Eussian  and  her  mysterious  influence  over  Lord 
Caistor's  policy. 

Mr.  Hayward  smiled  a  quiet  smile  of  superior  know- 
ledge as  he  answered,  with  something  of  his  grand 
society  manner ; 

'  I'm  the  nearest  approach  to  Mr.  Mortimer  that  exists. 
I'm  the  head  of  the  firm ;  but  it's  a  trade  name  only. 
There's  no  Mortimer  now  in  the  concern  at  all.  My 
name  is  Lambert  Hayward.  I'll  take  your  portrait  my- 
self, if  you'll  be  good  enough  to  sit  down  there,'  waving 
her  with  one  lordly  sweep  of  his  left  hand  into  a  vacant 
chair.  '  And,  what's  more,  it'll  be  taken  just  fifty  times 
better  than  any  other  photographer  in  London  can 
take  it.' 

Even  Madame  Mire£f  was  half  over-awed  by  the  im- 
posing dignity  of  his  presence.  Such  an  operator  as  this 
she  had  never  before  seen.  She  seated  herself  passively 
in  the  chair,  and  let  him  pose  her  as  he  would  with  his 
stately  courtesy.  Mr.  Hayward  arranged  her  hands  and 
her  draperies  with  self-respecting  deference,  as  a  court- 
painter  of  noble  birth  might  arrange  the  attire  of  an 
empress  who  was  sitting  to  him. 

'  Now,  a  thought  more  to  the  left,'  he  said  at  last, 
drawing  a  screen  on  the  glazed  roof  over  her  head,  so  as 
to  let  a  pensive  light  fall  delicately  on  that  too  exuberant 
bust — for  he  had  a  true  artist's  eye  for  efiFects  of  light ; 
'  look  about  here ;  that  will  do  I  ah,  so — exactly.  I'm 
venturing  to  pose  you  now,  first  as  Madame  Mirefif  the 
diplomatist,  the  dame  de  la  haut  politique,  the  friend  and 
ally  of  ambassadors.  You  lock  it  to  perfection.  After 
that  I'll  try  to  catch  you  as  Madame  Mire£F,  the  leader 
of  gay  society  in  Petersburg;  and  then  as  Madame 
Mire£f,  the  dreamer,  the  enthusiast.' 

At  the  last  words  Madame's  expression  altered  slightly 
—and,  quick  as  lightning,  Mr.  Hayward  withdrew  the 
cap  and  then  shortly  replaced  it  again. 

'  That  was  just  what  I  wanted,'  he  said,  a  little  trium- 
phant ;  '  that  intriguie  expression,  as  of  one  searching  in 
spirit  the  explanation  of  an  snigma.  It's  so  you  musk 
look,  Madame,  when  ycu  play  the  high  game  of  diplomacy 


ii» 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


il  I 


y 


M 


with  ous  guileless  English  statesmen —keen  to  deteel 
their  weak  points,  quick  to  scent  the  approach  of  any 
dangerous  topic.  That's  why  I  said  to  you  just  then  the 
word  "enthusiast."  It  was  to  make  you  wonder  how 
a  photographer  in  a  Bond  Street  shop  ever  oame  to 
suspect  such  a  trait  in  your  complex  character.' 

Madame  looked  up  this  time  in  naive  surprise.  The 
assistant  meanwhile  had  slipped  in  another  plate. 

'  There,  so,'  Mr.  Hay  ward  cried  again,  lifting  one  warn- 
ing little  finger.  *  Don't  alter  a  muscle — a  thought  I 
Don't  stir,  please,  or  change  expression !  Ah,  capital ! 
capital  1  That's  the  bland,  childlike  smile  of  the  perfect 
hostess.  It's  as  you  must  have  looked  in  the  Governor's 
palace  at  Tiflis.  Now  again,  please.  Head  thrown  back 
a  little  more.  Eyes  looking  up — yes,  there  I  Less  of  the 
figure  this  time  1  More  of  the  face  and  the  neck  f 
Think  of  Bussia  and  tho  cause  you  have  nearest  at  heart 
in  your  country.  Think  of  the  Slavonic  enthusiasm  of 
your  earMost  dreams  I  Think  of  your  Czar,  of  your 
Empress  I  Forget  yourself — and  me — and  this  murky 
London !  Go  back  to  Petersburg  in  your  own  soul — to 
Moscow — to  Novgorod  I' 

Madame  sighed  half  involuntarily.  What  did  he  know 
of  the  cause  she  loved  really  best  ?  And  if  he  knew,  what 
would  he  think  of  it,  that  cold,  unsympathetic  English- 
man ?  The  thought  reflected  itself  in  her  face,  and,  like 
an  electric  flash,  Mr.  Hayward  fixed  it.  He  replaced  the 
cap  with  the  sense  of  a  work  well  performed. 

'  There,  we  have  the  three  Madame  Mireffs,'  he  said, 
stepping  back  and  releasing  her ;  '  politician,  grand$ 
dame,  self-effacing  patriot.  And  all.  as  you  see,  in  rather 
less  than  ten  minutes  !' 

Madame  let  her  breath  go  free  after  the  suspense  of 
the  sitting.  What  a  curious  man  he  was,  to  be  sure,  thii 
photographer  I  Even  sJie  felt  half  afrv\id  now  to  tackle 
nim  about  Sacha  and  Owen.  He  seemed  to  see  through 
her  so — touched  such  chords  so  easily  I  She  talked  for  a 
minute  or  two  with  him  on  neutral  subjects ;  then  in  a 
casual  way  she  moved  over  to  the  table.  As  her  eye  fell 
on  Owen  in  the  Atlas  group  sho  gave  an  almost  imper- 
oeptible  start,  but  Mr.  Hayward  noted  it — noted,  i00| 


IN  THG  COUfiSB  OP  BUSIN]Q8S 


m 


that  she  Bhould  have  been  proof  against  suoh  betrayal  of 
her  feelings — and  remembered  it  afterwGurds. 

'  Why,  that's  young  Gazalet  1'  she  cried,  drawing  back. 
*  Owen  Cazalet  I     I  know  him.' 

'  Madame  knows  everybody/  Mr.  Hayward  anewered, 
smiling.  *  Owen  Cazalet's  a  young  friend  of  mine.  He 
went  with  me  to  Morocco.' 

Madame  gazed  hard  at  the  portrait.  It  was  admirably 
characteristic.  Slav,  Slav  to  the  backbone.  Then  she 
ventured  to  play  a  bold  card. 

'  He  reminds  me  of  an  old  friend  of  mine,'  she  said 
slowly,  as  she  looked  at  it.  '  In  Petersburg,  long  ago. 
The  same  eyes.  The  same  big  build.  The  same  open 
expression.  He  might  almost  he  a  son  of  Ooimt  Sergioi 
SelistofPs.' 

'You  think  so?* 

Those  cold  eyes  were  fixed  coldly  upon  her. 

Madame  Mire£F  flinched. 

'  Yes,  very  like  him,'  she  answered,  musing. 

There  was  a  long,  deep  pause.  Then  Madame  lookecL 
up  with  engaging  frankness,  and  asked  ai  innocently  as  a 
child : 

'  Is  he  Russian  by  origin  ? 

Mr.  Hayward  stroked  his  chin  and  regarded  her  in 
silence.     At  last  he  went  off  at  a  tangent : 

'  I've  travelled  a  bit  in  Europe,'  he  said,  '  and  I  know 
my  way  about  the  Continent.  I've  visited  Petersburg. 
I  remember  the  name  you  mention.  There's  a  General 
Alexis  Selistoff  there— a  head  of  the  Third  Section.  .  .  . 
I  suppose  you  know  him.  ...  No  doubt  this  Oonni 
Sergius  Selistoff  was  the  General's  brother.  .  .  .'  Ht 
paused  a  moment.  Then  he  broke  in  upon  her  fiercely, 
with  a  sudden  lowering  of  his  head  between  his  shouldera 
and  a  quick  clenching  of  his  fists.  '  And  do  you  think, 
Madame  I'Espionne,'  ne  cried,  in  a  low  voice  between  hie 
teeth,  '  if  these  were  really  Sergius  Selistoffs  children, 
I'd  give  up  the  fact  to  an  emissary  of  the  Czar's  and  m 
creature  of  their  uncle's  at  the  Third  Section  T 

Madame  Mireff  drew  back,  wholly  abashed.  She 
was  a  woman,  after  all,  and  tears  rose  quick  into  her 
eyes. 


^ 


r 


n4 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


*Ton  English  will  believe  any  evil  on  earUi  of  • 
Eussian,'  sha  murmured  low,  half  remorsefully. 

*  Then,  you  mean  them  no  harm  ?'  Mr.  Hay  ward  said, 
drawing  back  and  scanning  her  close  from  head  to  foot. 

'  Heaven  help  me,  no !'  Madame  faltered,  losing  her 
presence  of  mind  for  a  moment  at  this  onexpeoted  attack. 
She  seemed  to  hesitate  one  instant ;  and  Mr.  Hayward 
noticed  her  hesitation  with  a  disapproving  eye.  '  it's  so 
hard,'  she  gaspod  out  slowly  at  last,  *  to  be  always  mis- 
understood. The  girl  herself — Saoha  the^  call  her — ^mis- 
nndorstood  me  the  other  day.    It's  painful  when  one 

really  wishes  ^o  do  anyone  good '    She  broke  oflf  with 

»  half-scarod  look.  '  Oh,  we  women  are  too  weak  1'  sht 
cried  in  gonuino  distress.  '  Too  wed.k  for  oar  work.  Too 
weak  for  suol^  employment.' 

'  I  think  BO,'  Mr.  Hayward  assented,  with  a  eold,  half- 
eontemptuous  sneer.  '  Olga  Mireff,  you  are  tried  in  the 
balance  and  found  wanting.  This  is  not  what  one  would 
expect  from  ITicolas  SerjgueyefPs  daughter  1' 

Madame  started  again,  still  more  visibly.  She  wai 
completely  unnerved  now.  Shf3  clasped  her  hands  Im  hn 
astonishment. 

*  Why,' what  do  yon  know  of  iry  father?  she  exekim^jd, 
•11  aghast  at  such  omniscienca 

Mr.  Hayward  came  close  to  her,  seized  her  wrift  la 
his  hand,  and  addressed  her  in  Russian. 

'  Olga  Mireff,'  he  said,  looking  hard  at  her,  *  yon've 
been  a  useful  friend  of  the  Cause ;  bat  you've  lost  yoar 
head  to-day.  This  is  dangerous,  very.  Make  no  more 
inquiries  at  present  about  these  young  Gazalets,  I  tell 
you.  You  had  no  orders  to  meddle  with  the  matter 
from  headquarters,  and  this  la  a  headquarters  afbir. 
You've  ventured  to  push  yourself  in  where  you  were  not 
needed,  and  you  must  abide  the  result.  This  interview 
between  us  shall  be  reported  at  once  to  Burio  BrassotIL' 

At  that  name  Madame  Miroff  gasped  for  breath. 

*Buric  Brassoffr  she  repeated,  appalled.  'Then, 
you're  one  of  us  ?'  in  Bussian. 

For  it  was  even  so.  The  dear  friend  of  the  Gsar,  the 
trusted  tool  of  General  Belistoff,  the  onaooredited  eijvoy 
lo  the  English  Gabinet—wai  henelf  a  Nihilist.    And  it 


"^_^ 


THIS  NIHILIST  CHI15F 


n% 


was  for  the  sake  of  the  good  she  could  do  the  Ganse  that 
she  consented  to  play  in  outward  show  the  hateful  game 
of  the  tyrant's  diplomatist. 

But  Mr.  Hayward  only  gazed  back  at  her  with  im- 
a£fected  scorn. 

*  And  you  think  me  as  weak  as  yourself,  then  I'  he 
answered.  *  You  think  I  wear  my  heart  on  my  sleeve  I 
You  think  I'll  bare  my  bosom  to  the  first  person  that 
asks  me  1  Olga  Mireff,  this  is  bad.  You  hold  your  cards 
ill  to  expose  their  faces.  You  must  answer  for  all  this  to 
Buric  BrassofL' 


CHAPTER  XVin. 


SHB  NIHILIST  OHIBF. 

It  was  with  profound  trepidation  that  Madame  MirefF 
opened  next  morning,  in  her  luxurious  rooms  at  the 
M^tropole,  a  letter  with  a  penny  stamp  on  it,  bearing  the 
a  ling  postmark.  For  the  address  on  the  envelope  she 
saw  at  a  glance  was  in  the  handwriting  of  Buric  Brasso£F's 
secretary,  and  she  felt  sure  the  mysterious  photographer 
in  Bond  Street  must  already  have  related  her  indiscretions 
of  yesterday  to  the  head  of  the  organization.  And  Buric 
Brassoff  himself,  as  every  Nihilist  knew  well,  was  not  m 
man  to  be  trifled  with. 

'  Olga  Mibeff,'  the  letter  said  shortly  in  Bussian, '  I 
learn  from  a  faithful  friend  that  your  conduct  of  late  has 
seriously  imperilled  several  schemes  for  the  good  of  the 
cause  which  I  have  much  at  heart ;  and  I  feel  so  oon> 
vinced  of  the  paramount  necessity  for  explaining  to  yon 
the  evil  tendency  of  your  inconsiderate  action  that  I  have 
determined  to  make  an  exception  to  my  general  rule,  and 
to  grant  you  aii  last — what  you  have  so  long  desired — a 
personal  interview.  Call  on  Saturday  next,  at  four  pre- 
cisely, at  the  same  place  where  you  spoke  with  a  brothei 
of  ours  to-day,  and  ask  to  see  Mr.  Hayward,  who  wiU 
ooiiiduot  you  to  my  presence. 

'  Tours  for  Bussia, 

'  BURIO  fiBABBOrV.' 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


>■! 


And  this  was  Tuesday  I  Oh,  cruel,  cmel  delay  I  Had 
Burio  Brassoff,  she  wondered,  arraii-^'^d  it  so  ca purpose? 
Good  subordinate  as  she  was,  and  duly  trained  to  obedi- 
ence, Madame  Mirefif  said  many  hard  things  in  her  own 
heart  meanwhile  about  that  in'^xorci.ble  chief,  who  had 
given  her  four  such  days  of  sus^:)en3e  and  misery.  She 
had  longed  to  meet  him  again  for  years,  and  now — why, 
now  she  dreaded  it.  How  difficult  it  was  even  to  pretend 
to  listen  with  interest  to  Lord  Oaistor's  long-winded  anec- 
dotes of  the  turf,  or  Lady  Beaumont's  vapid  society 
stories,  with  that  appallin,^  interview  hanging  over  her 
head  all  the  while  like  the  sword  of  Damocles  1  How 
difficult  to  dine  out,  and  smile,  anJ  smirk,  and  sparkle, 
and  fascinate,  with  the  letter  at  her  heart  and  blank 
terror  in  her  soul  I  Oh,  remorseless  chief  1  Oh,  pitiless 
organization  I 

At  last,  however,  the  dreadful  Saturday  came,  and, 
with  what  resolve  she  could  muster  up,  Madame  Mire^ 
drove  round  in  her  comfortable  brougham  to  Mortimer 
and  Oo.'s  in  Bond  Street.  '  To  see  Mr.  Hayward,'  she 
said  shortly,  without  another  word,  to  the  fnzzy-haired 
young  woman  in  waiting  in  the  oljiae,  and  she  was 
ushered  at  once  into  the  photogra.pher's  presence. 

'  What  do  you  wish  ?'  Mr.  Hay  ward  asked,  rising  and 
bowing,  polite  and  inscrutable  and  courtly  as  ever. 

Madame  thought  of  her  instructions,  and  aniwered  to 
the  letter : 

'  I  was  told  to  ask  for  Mr.  Hay  ward.' 

l%te  photographer  smiled. 

'  Quite  right,'  he  replied  more  approvingly,  in  an  almost 
genial  tone.  '  And  Mr.  Hayward  was  to  show  you  to  . . . 
another  persoa'  He  changed  his  expression  suddenly  as 
he  added  in  Russian,  dropping  into  it  all  at  once,  '  But 
the  two  are  one.  Olga  Mire£^  don't  you  know  me  ?  I  am 
Burio  Brassoff  I' 

Madame  rose  in  alarm  from  the  chair  where  she  had 
seated  herself.  Her  head  swam  vaguelv.  Her  eyes  grew 
dim.  She  clapped  one  hand  to  her  forehead  in  amaze  and 
bewilderment. 

*  If  this  a  trap?'  she  asked  pitoously,  gazing  about  her, 
allanntrTML    vDo  you  want  to  take  me  in?    You're  not 


THB  NIHILIST  CHIBF 


IIT 


telliiig  me  the  truth.  I  knew  the  man  well.  Tou're  not 
Prince  Rurio  Brassoff.* 

'  Not  the  Prince.  No,  that's  true.  I  ceased  to  be  a 
prince  long  ago/  Mr.  Hayward  answered.  *  But  Eurio 
Brassoff — yes,  still  the  same  as  of  old.  Look  hard,  Olga 
Mireff,  and  see  if  you  can  recognise  me  I' 

Madame  Mirei^  gazed  intently  at  him.  Her  look  was 
riveted  on  every  part  in  turn     Then  she  shook  her  head. 

*  Not  a  trace,'  she  replied.  '  Not  a  feature — the  eyes — 
perhaps  the  eyes.    But  no,  impossible,  impossible  1' 

Mr.  na3rward  seized  a  pen  and  wrote  a  word  or  two  in 
haste  on  a  sheet  of  white  paper. 

*  Whose  handwriting's  that  ?'  he  asked,  with  an  air  of 
demonstration.  '  And  this  ?'  he  cried  onoe  more,  writing 
flk^other  line  and  handing  it  to  her. 

Madame  Mireff  looked  at  it,  amazed. 

*  Another  man's,'  she  answered,  holding  one  hand  on 
susae  heart ;  '  the  same  we've  always  been  accustomed  to 
eall  yoar  secretary's.' 

Mr.  Hayward  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and,  fiddling 
Slightly  with  his  fingers,  withdrew  something  hard  from 
ihe  side  of  the  gums.  His  cheeks  fell  in  a  little.  He  was 
lasfl  round-faced  than  before. 

'  Bo  you  recognise  any  likeness  now  ?'  he  asked,  with  a 
(j^^er  in  his  voice. 

'  Hardly  any.  Well,  perhaps — but,  there  I  it's  so  slight. 
Oh  no,  so  Illlike  that  handsome  Buric  Brassoff  of  the  old 
dtiys  ait  Petersburg.  More  stately — severer — grander 
perhaps— but  lees  beautiful.  He  was  fair.  You're  dark. 
He  had  a  beard.  You've  none.  His  moustache  and  hair 
were  light-brown,  almost  yellow.  Yours  are  black.'  And 
Bhe  hesitated. 

'  Dya,  dye — mere  dye !'  Mr.  Hayward  mused  musically. 

^  But  the  features  I'  Mad^  me  Mireff  exclaimed,  incredu- 
lontai.  '  The  voice  I  No ;  impossible !  A  man  can't  change 
his  );»ron!e,  his  build,  his  gait,  his  very  tone.  You're  trying 
io  mpose  upon  me,  to  lure  me  to  some  snare.  I  can  never 
beJeve  it !    You're  not  Eurio  Brassoff  1' 

Mi\  Ha3^ard  gazed  hard  at  her. 

'  HttV6  jkiU  the  letter  that  brought  you  here?'  he  asked 
very  qoietlj'. 


fit 


UNDER  SKALBD  ORDS&S 


^    8 


ill     ' 


^Ta(1ame  pulled  it  from  her  bosom. 

1'he  Nihilist  took  it,  and  shook  his  head  solemnly. 

'  Wrong,  wrong  ;  quite  wrong,'  he  said  with  a  despon- 
dent gesture,  laying  it  down  by  the  signature  he  had  just 
written  for  comparison.  *  Who  can  work  with  such  tools  ? 
You  carry  this  about  with  you  I  Why,  you  ought  to  have 
burnt  it,  of  course,  the  moment  you'd  read  it.  Suppose 
you'd  been  run  over  by  accident  in  the  street,  and  such  a 
thing  had  been  found  upon  you  I'  He  crumpled  the  note 
and  held  it  up  for  one  minute  before  his  eyes ;  then  he 
lighted  J,  match  and  reduced  it  with  the  other  paper  by 
its  side  to  ashes.  She  watched  it  burning.  *  Well,  you 
saw,'  he  went  on  with  a  sigh,  '  those  are  the  self -same 
signatures.  The  letters  you've  been  accustomed  to  receive 
— and  obey — from  Burio  Brassoff,  are  letters  from  9716  / 
That  much  you  can  make  out  with  your  own  eyes,  at  any 
rate.  And  I'm  n,ll  of  Euric  Brassoff  that  yet  remains, 
though  time  and  privations  no  doubt  have  made  me  thin 
and  lank.  There's  not  enough  left  of  me  now  for  you  to 
recognise,  seemingly.' 

Madame  Mireii'  stared  at  him  astonished. 

*  How've  you  done  it  ?'  she  asked,  wondering.  *  I  sup- 
pose I  must  believe  you're  Buric  Brassoff,  since  you  say 
BO ;  but  how  on  earth  have  you  managed  so  completely  to 
di-^^guise  yourself?' 

The  Nihilist  chief  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  with 
his  parental  air. 

*  Listen,  Olga  Mireff,'  he  said  solemnly.  *  You  remem- 
ber what  I  was — how  brought  up — in  what  luxury.  No 
young  man  of  fashion  in  Petersburg  was  better  dressed 
than  I ;  no  soldier  had  more  successes ;  no  companion 
was  more  sought  after.  I  was  rich,  I  was  great,  I  was 
noble,  I  was  powerful.  Well,  one  day,  with  a  sudden 
awakening,  conscience  smote  me  like  a  sword.  There 
was  a  thunderstorm  at  Petersburg.  I  came  to  myself  all 
at  once  in  the  midst  of  the  tempest ;  I  realized  my  own 
nothingness  in  this  vast  teeming  universe.  I  heard,  as  if 
with  my  own  ears,  the  plaintive  cry  of  our  Bussian 
peasant ;  you  know  that  low  cry,  all  stifled  wailing  smd 
lamentation  in  which  centuries  of  serfdom  and  suffering 
seem  concentrated.    His  squalid  misery  touched 


' 


THE  NIHIUST  CHIBF 


Iff 


that  great  pathetic  figure,  broken  down  by  toil,  exhausted 
by  hunger,  worn  out  with  exactions.  I  awoke  to  a  new 
life;  I  felt  my  heart  throb  for  him,  this  inarticulate, 
dumb,  tortured  thing,  who  can  weep,  hat  cannot  speak  ; 
this  endless  crucified  sufferer.  Then  I  fell  on  my  face 
before  the  Lord,  like  Paul  on  the  way  to  Damascus ;  I 
took  in  my  heart  a  solemn  oath  to  consecrate  my  life, 
my  strength,  my  thoughts,  my  energies,  to  the  liberation 
of  that  patient,  voiceless,  manifold  people,  which  drains 
its  life-blood  eternally  in  order  that  we,  the  favoured 
children  of  privilege  and  wealth,  may  live  at  our  ease  in 
great  towns,  eat,  drink,  and  wive  us,  and  make  merry  on 
its  sacrifice.' 

*  I  know  it,'  Madame  answered,  flushing  red  in  hs? 
turn,  and  clasping  her  hands  hard  with  emotion.  *  I,  too 
—I  have  felt  it.' 

*  Well,  and  you  know  the  rest  in  part,'  the  ardent  Bevo- 
Intionist  went  on,  with  the  Slavonic  fire  in  his  bosom 
now  burning  bright  like  a  lamp.  '  How  I  tore  off  those 
gilded  clothes,  that  ate  like  vitriol  into  my  flesh ;  how  I 
put  on  the  rough  coat  and  wooden  shoes  of  the  peasant ; 
how  I  wasted  my  vast  fortune  like  water  for  the  Cause ; 
how  I  herded  with  poor  wretches,  eating  their  black 
bread  and  drinking  their  poisonous  vodki,  that  I  might 
carry  to  them  the  great  gospel  of  our  age — the  social 
revolution.  What  matter  to  me  if  the  cut-throats  of  the 
Government  laid  hold  upon  my  vile  body  ?  What  matter 
to  me  exile,  death,  torture,  Siberia  ?  You  and  I  shrink 
not  from  such  sacrifice.  We  could  meet  the  axe  itself 
with  a  smile  of  pure  happiness.' 

Madame  Mireff  clenched  her  hands  still  harder. 

*  It  is  you  I'  she  cried.  '  It  is  you  I  I  followed  yon 
from  the  Court.  I  recognise  there  the  true  voice  of 
Buric  Brasscff.' 

Mr.  Hayward's  voice  grew  calmer. 

*  In  time,  then,'  he  went  on,  relapsing  once  more  into 
his  accustomed  self,  '  I  found,  as  you  know,  I  could 
serve  our  great  Cause  better  in  the  West  than  in  Bussia, 
They  stole  my  fortune,  or  all  that  was  left  of  it.  I  came 
abroad,  and  determined  no  man  should  ever  recognise 
again  the  head  of  the  organization.    It  wai  painful,  bal 


p 


ill 

i 


i,-     J 

?   i 


■•  17NDBR  SBAI<BD  ORDBRS 

I  did  it.  Ton  say  it  s  impossible  to  alter  one's  profile. 
Not  so  t  Just  a  little  bit  of  cartilage  remoyed — see  here' 
— and  he  took  a  sketch  from  a  drawer  at  his  side — 
'  there's  the  Burio  Brassoff  you  knew  long  ago  at  Peters- 
burg. But  cut  away  a  mere  shade  there — under  the 
flesh — a  great  Paris  surgeon.  Yes,  it  was  an  internal 
operation,  of  course,  and  horribly  agonizing — but  for 
the  Cause  1  and  I  am  a  Brassoff  [  A  razor  to  my  chin, 
ft  little  plain  black  dye,  a  di£ferent  cut  of  the  hair,  a  new 
twist  to  the  moustache,  does  all  the  rest.  And  see  1  in 
a  minute ' — he  added  a  touch  or  two  with  his  pencil  to 
the  early  sketch — '  you  get  me  as  I  am  now — Lambert 
Hay  ward,  photographer,  and  a  naturalized  subject  of 
her  Britannic  Majesty  1' 

Madame  glanced  at  him  in  admiration. 

'The  disguise  is  so  perfect,'  she  said,  after  ft  long, 
deep  pause,  'that  I  never  for  a  mome?it  so  much  as 
suspected  it.  And,  what's  more,  when  you  told  me  at 
first,  I  couldn't  believe  it ;  but  your  voice — your  voice — 
how  have  you  altered  even  that  so  profoundly,  lo  com- 
pletely?' 

Buric  Brassoff  sighed  deeply. 

'  Ah,  that  was  hard  indeed,'  he  answered.  *  There's 
only  one  way.  Compression  and  alteration  of  shape  in 
the  larynx,  with  operations  on  the  vocal  cords,  and 
constant  use  of  local  muscular  astringents.  Those,  aided 
by  fresh  habits  of  life  and  English  intonation — with  my 
cheek-pieces  to  boot — have  given  me  a  new  voice  even 
in  speaking  Bussian.  As  for  my  handwriting,  that's 
nothing.  Anyone  can  manage  that.  I  practise  both 
hands  constantly,  and  alternate  them  as  I  please.  One'f. 
my  original  style,  written  with  a  backward  slope  and  a 
thick  blunt  pen,  very  Bussian  and  natural ;  the  other's 
acquired,  written  the  opposite  way,  and  with  a  fine- 
pointed  nib,  forming  all  my  letters  on  the  common 
English  model.  But,  Olga,  you're  the  very  first  person 
in  the  world  who  has  ever  been  permitted  to  penetrate 
my  disguise.  And  only  because  I  feared  you  mi^ht 
wreck  all  by  your  imprudence,  and  because  I  didn't  like 
k)  risk  committing  the  facts  to  writing — especially  to  you, 
who  wrt  10  liable  to  mtermption  by  the  agents  q{  tUo 


lii 


CONSPIRACY  Mi 

tyranny — I  decided,  after  long  debate,  to  ask  yon  rotuid 
here  to-day  to  talk  things  over  with  me.  I  want  to  show 
you  how  dangerous,  how  undesirable*  it  is  for  you  to 
make  any  farther  inquiries  about  Owen  Bad  Saeha 
Gazalek' 


CHAPTEB  XIX. 

OONSPIBAOT. 

'Of  course,'  Madame  said,  still  trembling  faiwwdty, 

<  they  are  Sergius  Selisto£rs  children.' 

Mr.  Hayward  bent  his  head. 

'  Sergius  Selistoff's  children,'  he  repeated.  *  Yes, 
Sergius  Selistoffs  children.  When  the  Terror  broke  out, 
and  Sergius  Selistoff  was  hurried  away  by  administrative 
power  to  the  Siberian  mines,  I  managed  to  smuggle  off 
Madame  Selistoff  unperceived,  with  the  little  ones  by  her 
side,  as  far  as  Wilna.  There,  as  you  must  of  course 
remember,  the  poor  lady's  brain,  tortured  by  the  thought 
of  her  husband's  hideous  fate  and  her  anxiety  for  her 
children,  gave  way  altogether.  She  rushed  out  into  the 
streets,  raving  mad,  horn  her  place  of  concealment, 
crying  aloud  that  the  Czar  was  murdering  her  Sergiui 
and  stealing  her  babies  from  her ;  and  for  the  little  ones' 
sake — there  was  no  help  for  it — we  were  obliged  to 
abandon  her.  It  was  some  weeks  before  I  could  carry 
the  poor  orphaned  creatures  surreptitiously  across  the 
Prussian  frontier,  and  then  by  steamer  from  Dantzic  to 
England.  Madame  Selistoff,  as  you  know,  died  mean- 
while, still  raving  mad,  in  the  asylum  at  Wilna,  and  I 
was  forced,  for  our  poor  martyr's  sake,  to  undertake  tho 
charge  of  Sacha  and  the  boy  Sergius.' 

•  "Whom  you  call  Owen?'  Madame  put  in  interrogatively. 

'  Whom  we  now  call  Owen,'  Mr.  Hayward  assented, 
with  a  fatherly  smile.  '  You  see,  Olga,  the  girl  was  four 
years  old,  and  wouldn't  hear  of  being  called  by  any 
name  but  Sacha,  which  was  the  pet  name  she'd  alwayi 
borne  in  her  father's  house  at  Petersburg ;  so  I  had  to 
ItftTe  hor  alone ;  but  the  boy  was  a  baby,  and  as  I  wished 


HI?: 

s 


r 


m  UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 

to  bring  bira  np  a  thorough-going  Englishman,  I  eom 
mitted  him  at  once  to  Miss  Cazalet's  care,  under  the 
name  of  Owen.    It  was  years  before  he  knew  he  was 
Bussian  by  origin/ 

'You  were  etill  Euric  Brassoff,  then?'  Madame  asked. 

'  Not  exactly.  I  was  passing  just  that  moment  through 
an  intermediate  state — reversing  the  usual  process — 
from  butterfly  to  caterpillar.  I  took  them  personally  to 
Miss  Cazalet's,  representing  myself  as  a  Polish  refugee, 
but  with  the  face  and  complexion  of  the  Buric  Brasso^ 
that  used  to  be.  I  told  the  poor  lady — who's  a  feeble- 
minded English  old  maid ;  you  know  the  type :  wef  k 
tea,  respectability,  district-visiting,  the  Central  African 
missions — they  were  her  half-sister's  children.  Madame 
Selistoff  had  given  me  the  address  and  the  family  history 
before  I  started,  and  Sacha  was  quite  old  enough  to 
understand  and  remember  most  things.  But  I  explained 
to  the  good  aunt  it  would  be  dangerous  to  let  it  get 
noised  abroad  they  were  Bussians  and  Selisto£fs;  the 
Czar  might  claim  them  as  his  subjects,  and  send  them, 
too,  to  Siberia.  I  frightened  her  so  much,  indeed,  that 
she  consented  at  last  to  acquiesce  in  the  story  that  their 
father  had  died  in  Canada,  and  to  suppress  their  real 
name — which  was  much  for  an  Englishwoman.  They've 
been  brought  up  ever  since  in  her  house,  as  Gazalets, 
and  as  British  subjects,  though  Alexandra  never  forgot 
she  was  a  Selistoff  bom,  nor  the  horror  and  terror  of 
those  days  at  Wilna.' 

'  And  the  change  of  face  ?'  Madame  inquired. 

*The  change  of  face  came  afterwards.  For  three 
years  I  never  saw  Miss  Cazalet  again,  though  I  wrote 
to  her  occasionally  and  sent  her  money  for  her  children 
■—how  hard  earned,  God  only  knows;  saved  often  by 
starving  myself  from  the  Burio  Brassoff  you  knew  to 
the  spare  and  weather-worn  man  you  see  before  you 
now.  Meanwhile,  I  was  undergoing  my  new  birth — 
passing  through  my  chrysalis  stage  in  holes  and  corners 
— ^resting  quiescent  as  Buric  Brassoff,  to  emerge  from 
(he  shell  as  Lambert  Hayward,  an  Englishman.  Berg- 
mann,  of  Berlin,  transformed  my  voice  for  me — most 
diffioiUt  operaiion  on  the  vocal  cords.    Charcot  managed 


CONSPIRACY 


rough 


ray  features,  not  knowing  who  I  might  be  or  why  I 
wanted  them  altered.  I  learned  English,  too,  in  an 
English  family  in  Yorkshire,  and  having  our  Bnssian 
taste  for  languages,  like  yourself,  perfected  myself  rapidly. 
When  the  metamorphosis  was  complete  I  took  to  photo- 
graphy. I'd  been  an  amateur  in  Petersburg,  yoa  re- 
member,  and  I  made  it  pay  in  London.  Having  lost 
my  all,  for  the  sake  of  the  Cause,  I  was  bound  to  make 
money.' 

'And  does  the  aunt— the  old  maid — know  all  thiif 
Madame  asked  with  deep  interest. 

'  Not  a  soul  on  earth  but  yourself  knows  a  word  of  it. 
You  are  the  first — most  likely  you  will  be  the  last — who 
has  ever  been  so  honoured.  Not  even  Sacha  suspects  it 
— my  disguise  was  so  perfect.  I  have  such  little  doubt 
of  its  absolute  e£fectiveness  that  I'd  go  to  Petersburg 
itself,  if  necessary,  as  an  English  tourist.  Well,  at  the 
end  of  three  years  I  saw  Miss  Cazalet  again,  this  time 
as  an  Englishman  who  had  known  Sergius  Selistoff  and 
his  wife  at  Vienna.  I  drove  a  hard-and-fast  bargain 
with  her,  which  has  been  loyally  kept  on  both  sides  ever 
since.  I  engaged  to  keep  Owen,  and  pay  for  his  educa- 
tion, and  start  him  in  life  as  my  own  son,  if  she'd  let 
me  have  him  with  me  for  two  months  in  each  year  to 
do  as  I  liked  with.  Poor  ladyl  she  jumped  at  it — 
though  she'd  have  cut  her  throat  sooner  if  sne'd  knows 
what  I  really  wanted  him  for — she,  with  her  narrow 
Evangelical  views  and  her  Central  African  missions; 
absorbed,  not  so  much  in  the  bread  of  life,  as  in  the 
necessity  of  getting  it  from  this,  that,  or  tho  other  par- 
ticular baker.  But  she  took  me  for  an  Englishman,  and 
she  takes  me  for  one  still,  though  &he  has  doubts  in  her 
own  mind  now  as  to  the  rightfulness  of  the  bargain  and 
as  to  the  nature  of  my  journeyings  up  and  down  oyer 
Europe.' 

'  Well,  and  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  young 
man  T  Madame  Mirelf  asked  again.  '  He  looks  liko  fine 
fibre — ^fit  for  any  service  humanity  may  choosl  to  require 
of  him.' 

'  He  ii,'  Burio  Brassoff  answered,  with  affectionate 
pride.    '  A  magnificent  body ;  a  pure,  enthusiastie,  an- 


u 


!!'■ 


i!( 


11 

in 


m 


TTNDBR  SEALED  ORDERS 


selfish  8onL    Oar  best  Bussian  characteristics  have  eome 
out  in  him  full-toned — only  heightened  and  improved  by 
free  English  training.     He's  a  noble  instrument  for  a 
noble  end.    Frankly,  Olga,  I'm  proud  of  him.' 
'  And  he  belongs  to  the  Cause  ?' 

*  Implicitly.  He  has  sucked  it  in  at  the  breast  with 
his  mother's  milk  almost.  From  his  earliest  boyhood,  as 
ioon  as  he  was  able  to  understand  anything,  I  began 
preparing  the  way  beforehand,  ploughing  and  harrowing 
the  soil,  sowing  the  good  seed  tentatively,  in  proportion 
as  his  years  would  permit  him  to  receive  it.  And  it  fell 
on  good  ground;  being  Sergius  Selistoff's  son,  he  was 
naturally  receptiva  He  loves  Russia  with  a  love  passing 
the  love  of  those  who  have  lived  in  it  and  known  it.  The 
Cause  of  free  Slavonia  is  to  him  an  ideal,  an  aspiration,  a 
religion.  He  is  one  of  us  to  the  core.  He  has  no  donbts, 
no  hesitations.' 

'I  see,'  Madame  answered.  *That  is  fine;  that  if 
iplendid.  And  you're  going  to  put  him.  Lady  Beaumont 
•aid,  I  think,  into  the  English  diplomatic  service.' 

*  Yes.  He'll  be  useful  to  us  there  as  he  would  be  no- 
where else.  It's  a  long  task,  to  be  free.  We  must  build 
for  the  future.  I've  been  building  this  one  step  patiently 
for  twenty  years  and  more.  .  .  .  AttacMs  and  ambas- 
ladors  have  access  to  Court  dignitaries  which  no  one  else 
•an  secure.  ...  A  day  may  come  when  Owen  Cazalet 
can  strike  a  great  blow  for  Eussia.'  He  paused,  and 
drummed  hard  with  one  finger  on  the  table.  Then  he 
added,  once  more  in  a  quaintly  pensive  tone :  '  I  read  in 
an  anthropological  book  this  morning  that  on  Savage 
leland,  in  the  South  Pacific,  a  line  of  kings  once  reigned 
onrer  a  dusky  people.  But  as  these  kings  partook  of  a 
Divine  nature,  and  were  supposed  to  make  the  rain  fall, 
and  the  crops  grow  apace,  their  subjects  got  angry  with 
them  when  the  food-supplies  fell  short,  and  killed  them 
off  rapidly,  one  after  another,  in  a  spell  of  bad  seasons, 
till  at  last  so  many  kings  were  clubbed  to  death  in  suo- 
eession  that  nobody  cared  to  accept  the  offioe.  The  title 
went  begging  for  want  of  aspirants.  •  «  •  And  I  lai4 
down  the  book,  and  thought  of  Bussifti* 

Madame  Mireff  smiled  grimly. 


CONSPIRACY  OS 

'But,  then,  Owen  doesn'i  know  who  yon  are?*  she 
tiked  in  an  after-thought. 

'  No,  even  Owen  doesn't  know.  As  for  Sacha,  though 
■he  suspects  me,  no  doubt,  of  being  a  Russian,  perhaps 
even  a  Nihilist,  she  knows  nothing  at  all — and,  with  true 
81av  reticence,  abstains  from  asking  me.  She's  a  Une 
creature,  Sacha.  I  believe,  if  she  knew,  she'd  sympathize 
all  round,  for  she  remembers  her  mother's  death  and  her 
father's  long  slavery.  But  she's  a  genuine  Slavonic  type 
in  that  also ;  she  sees  it's  no  business  of  hers,  and  she 
makes  no  inquiries.  There's  something  about  Sacha's 
subdued  steadfastness  of  purpose  I  admire  immensely. 
Old  and  worn  as  I  am,  if  ever  I  married  now,  I  some- 
times think  to  myself  I'd  marry  Sacha  Cazalet.* 

He  paused  a  moment  and  sighed.  No,  no,  he  himself 
was  above  those  weaknesses  he  had  pointed  out  to  Owen 
as  the  great  stumbling-blocks  in  a  patriot's  path.  True 
Bussian  ascetic  at  heart,  he  had  brought  his  body  under, 
and  his  soul  as  well.  No  snare  for  him  there  1  He 
eould  smile  at  the  bare  thought  of  it. 

*And  now  you  see,  Olga  Mireff,'  he  went  on,  moro 
grave  than  ever,  '  how  unwisely  you  are  acting,  and  how 
you  were  thwarting  my  plans — the  plans  of  the  Cause — 
by  suggesting  in  pubUo  those  children  might  be  Bussians. 
My  one  object  in  Owen's  education  has  been  to  make  him 
an  Englishman  all  over,  in  externals  at  least — to  make 
him  strong  and  good  at  games,  and  personally  popular 
with  Englishmen.  I  wanted  nobod^r  even  to  suspect  any 
Bussian  connection.  I  wanted  tnis  bolt  to  fall  upon 
them  from  the  blue — attempt  on  the  life  of  the  great  head 
of  the  criminals ;  the  aggressor,  an  Englishman,  a  servant 
of  the  British  Grown — an  attachi  or  ambassador  at  Con- 
stantinople, say,  or  at  Athens.  Conceive  what  a  sensation  1 
And  you  nearly  spoilt  all — you,  a  woman,  and  unbid — by 
suggesting  in  the  room  where  Lord  Caistor  was  sitting, 
that  my  fine  English  young  man,  my  typical  Briton,  may 
jbe,  after  all,  a  son  of  Sergius  Selistolf 's  V 

Madame  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  at  tha 
magnitude  of  her  own  error. 

'  Oh,  this  is  too  terrible  of  me  I'  she  cried,  all  penitence. 
'What  folly!    What  indiscretion  I    But  I  did  it  only 


u6 


UNDER  SBAIvlQD  ORD£(R8 


because  I  wanted  to  know  the  facts — to  saye  them  fron 
the  clutchea  of  Alexis  Selistoff  in  Petersburg.' 

'  He  asked  you  to  hunt  them  up?'  Mr.  Hay  ward  asked 
calmly. 

'  Yes  ;  he  asked  me  to  hunt  them  up,  and  how  could  I 
know  you  were  interested  in  keeping  it  secret  ?  I  wanted 
to  warn  the  dear  souls  against  that  man — that  implacable 
bureaucrat,  that  vile  tool,  their  uncle.  If  ever  he  dis- 
covered them,  he'd  be  capable,  I  believe,  of  inviting  them 
to  Petersburg  under  friendly  promises,  and  then  killing 
them  with  his  own  hand,  or  flinging  them  secretly  into 
his  cells,  to  avenge  and  wipe  out  the  family  disgrace,  as 
he  considers  it ;  and  I  wanted  to  save  them !  But  all 
I've  done,  it  seems,  is  to  surprise  the  secret  you  desired 
to  keep.  I've  forced  your  hand.,  I  know  well.  .  .  . 
Euric  Brassoff,  there's  but  one  way  I  can  atone  for  my 
wrong-doing.' 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  fierce  pride.  Mr.  Hayward 
eyed  her  pityingly. 

•  Olga,'  he  said,  after  a  long  pause,  '  you're  quite  right. 
There's  but  one  way  out  of  it.  And  when  I  invited  you 
to  come  here  to-day,  I  meant  to  ask  you  to  follow  that 
way  to  the  bitter  end.  If  I  asked  you,  I  know  your  devo- 
tion well  enough  to  feel  sure  you'd  obey.  The  woman 
who  has  discovered  Eurio  BrassofPs  identity  against  his 
will — the  woman  who  alone  of  living  creatures  could 
bring  a  spy  to  this  spot,  and  point  her  finger  at  me  and 
say,  "  This  is  he  ;  arrest  him  " — that  woman  ought  to  go 
home  without  one  moment's  hesitation  and  cut  her  own 
throat  or  blow  her  own  brains  out.  The  Cause  demands 
it,  I  know  ;  and  the  martyr  would  be  forthcoming." 

MOidame  rose  and  confronted  him.  Her  eyes  flashed 
fire. 

'  Eurio  Brassoff  1'  she  exclaimed  haughtily,  *  you  haT« 
said  it.     It  is  done — already.' 

He  seized  her  hand  and  checked  her. 

'  No,  no  1'  he  cried  ;  '  not  so  fast.  I  didn't  mean  that  I 
I  have  other  plans  yet  in  store.  Olga  Mireff,  I  need  you 
still.  For  the  sake  of  the  Cause,  I  command  you — I  for- 
bid you.  1  give  vou  a  harder  task  yet,  ,  .  •  Live  ob, 
and  keep  silence. 


CONSPIRACY 


Ml 


'Then  yon  trust  me  1'  the  woman  cried,  trembling  with 
joy  all  over  at  so  signal  a  proof  of  Burio  BrassofTs  confi- 
dence. 

'  I  trnst  yon,'  he  answered  low.  '  Liye  on  tc  complete 
onr  great  work,  Olga  Mire£E.  But  never  breathe  to  a 
soul  that  you  have  seen  or  known  me.' 

She  looked  at  him,  proud  and  resolute. 

<Buric  Brassoff,'  she  said,  beaming  delight,  *I  am 
yours,  and  Russia's.  You  can  do  as  you  will  with  me. 
Say  "  Die  1"  and  I  die ;  say  "  Tivc  1"  and  I  Uto  on,  were 
it  in  speecbless  misery.' 

He  bowed  his  head  towards  her,  aoqaiesoent. 

*  It  is  atoned,'  he  said  slowly. 

She  lifted  those  rich  lips.    '  For  Bussia  I'  she  mormnred 
beseechingly. 
He  stooped  down,  and  just  touched  them. 

*  For  Bussia  I'  he  answered,  in  the  tone  of  one  intpirad. 
<  For  Bussia  only.     For  Bussia.' 

She  started  back,  rosy  red.  She  wai  a  woman,  after 
aU. 

<  Thank  yon,  Burio,'  she  answered.  *  I  shall  remember 
that  kiss  through  life.  My  lips  are  holy  now.  Bussia's 
noblest  son  has  deigned  to  sanctify  them.' 

He  motioned  her  away  with  his  hand.  She  moved 
slowly  to  the  door. 

'  Good-bye,'  she  said,  enraptured,  with  her  hand  on  the 
door-post.  '  Never  again,  dear  brother.  But  as  yon  bid 
me,  I  live ;  and  no  torture  shall  drag  your  seorel  from  me.' 


OHAPTEB  XX. 

Bonn  nMPnn. 

It  was  antnmn  at  Moor  Hill,  and  the  beeohei  ea  the 
chalk  downs  had  put  on  their  imperial  robes  of  crimson 
and  gold  and  Tyrian  purple.  How  <;ould  Saoha  resist 
the  temptation  of  a  visit  to  Aunt  Julia's  at  such  an 
enticing  time  ?  Impossible ;  she  felt  she  must  run 
down  to  see  them.    There  was  a  holiday  on  the  Stock 


'i  L 


128 


UNDER  8BALBD  ORDBRS 


ExobaiQge,  too,  and  Trevor  Gardener,  raost  timid  of  men, 
still  all  tentative  politeness,  had  asked  leave  to  aeoom- 
panv  her. 

'  That's  the  worst  of  allowing  these  people  a  foothold 
in  one's  house  as  hewsrs  of  wood  and  cbrawers  of  wtiuar,' 
Sacha  grumbled,  half  petulantly,  to  lonS.  *  They  pre- 
sume upon  their  position,  and  want  at  last  to  dine  at  the 
same  table,  instead  of  sticking,  as  they  ought,  to  their 
place  in  the  kitchen.  We'd  have  done  better  to  go  in,  I 
see,  for  being  thoroughly  independent  from  the  very  first 
outset.  The  mistake  was  made  when  we  permitted  such 
an  insinuating  creature  as  a  man  to  come  interfering  at 
all  with  our  cosy  little  phalanstery.' 

'They  are  insinuating — sometimes,'  Ion6  answered, 
with  a  mischievous  laugh.  '  And  sometimes  they're  not 
— not  half  insinuating  enough — especially  when  you'd 
like  them  to  be.  They  want  you  to  lift  them  over  all  the 
hard  stiles,  instead  of  lending  you  a  helping  hand  to  get 
over  yourself,  out  of  consideration  for  your  skirts,  and 
your  native  modesty  as  a  woman.  I've  met  some  of  them 
that  way.'  Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of  Owen.  *  But 
my  dear,  you  may  grumble  about  them  as  much  as  ever 
you  like— you  won't  take  me  in.'  And  she  shook  a  wise 
little  head.  *  We  wouldn't  get  on  half  as  well  without 
them.  But  as  it  wouldn't  be  proper,  of  course,  for  you 
and  Mr.  Gardener  to  go  down  together  alone,  why,  sooner 
than  shook  Mrs.  Grundy  or  your  aunt,  I  don't  mind 
obliging  you  myself,  and  making  the  third,  who's  pro- 
verbially no  company.  I'd  like  so  much  to  see' — she 
didn't  say  Owen,  but — '  your  old  studio  at  the  Bed 
Cottage.' 

It  is  thus  that  even  the  frankest  of  us  use  language,  as 
Talleyrand  said,  to  conceal  our  thoughts.  For  lond,  after 
all,  was  as  frank  as  it  is  given  her  half  of  the  human 
species  ever  tc  show  i.self  openly. 

When  Aunt  Julia  heard  she  was  coming — '  that  dreadful 
tooijly- haired  creature,  you  know,  that  you  met  in  Mo- 
rocco, Owen,  and  whose  portrait  in  men's  clothes,  and  a 
Mussulman's  at  that  (or  should  one  say  a  Mussul- 
woman's?),  was  put  in  the  Graphic' — her  horror  and 
alarm  were  simply  unbounded ,    *  What  Sacha  oan  meaa 


) 


SORE  TEMPTED 


119 


by  bringing  the  girl  down  hers  and  flinging  her  at  your 
head,  I'm  sure  I  can't  conceive,'  Aunt  Julia  sighed  dis- 
mally. *  But  there,  what  the  young  women  of  this  age 
are  coming  to,  heaven  only  knows  ;  with  their  flats  and 
their  latchkeys  and  their  riding  hke  gentlemen ;  it's  enough 
to  make  their  grandmothers  turn  in  their  graves.  You 
won't  care  for  her,  Owen,  that's  one  comfort,  for  I  know 
you  always  say  you  like  women  to  be  womanly,  and  this 
creature's  exactly  the  same  as  a  man,  and  not  a  good 
man  at  that,  either.  I  read  some  of  her  article  about 
Morocco  in  the  Bi-monthly  Review — I  couldn't  read  it  all 
— and  it  showed  she  was  utterly  devoid  of  sound  Chris- 
tian principles.  She  goes  into  one  of  the  dark  places  of 
the  earth  without  making  the  faintest  attempt  to  spread 
the  light  there.  She  jokes  about  the  most  serious  sub- 
jects in  a  really  paiuiul  way ;  talks  of  Mohammedans 
without  one  word  as  to  their  errors  or  their  immortal 
Bouls ;  and  lived  at  one  place  in  an  old  Moor's  house, 
who  had  three  wives  in  his  harem,  which  is  certainly  not 
respectable.  When  I  was  a  girl,  a  woman  who  did  such 
things  as  that  would  have  been  ashamed  to  speak  out 
about  them ;  but  nowadays  they  write  a  full  account  of 
their  vagaries  in  a  magazine,  as  if  masquerading  in  man's 
clothes  was  something  to  be  proud  of.' 

Owen  said  nothing.  But  the  fact  that  Aunt  Julia 
'thought  so  ill  of  lone  rather  operated  in  his  mind  as  an 
extra  attraction  to  the  pretty  Greek  girl  than  otherwise. 
It  was  an  unfortunate  knack  of  Aunt  Julia's,  indeed,  not 
tmknown  amongst  old  maids,  to  rouse  opposition  at  once 
In  young  people's  souls  by  the  mere  ;nanner  of  her  pro- 
nouncement. And  if  there  was  anything  Aunt  Julia 
wanted  Oweii  to  do,  she  couldn't  have  devised  a  better 
means  of  ensuring  her  end  than  to  preach  at  him,  in 
season  and  out  of  season,  that  he  oughtn't  to  do  it. 

But  when  lon^  really  came,  she  burst  upon  them,  as 
usual,  like  a  ray  of  sunlight.  Even  the  prop  of  the 
Universities  Mission  herself,  prepared  for  a  most  mascu- 
line and  forbidding  person,  was  taken  aback  at  the 
first  blush  by  lone's  joyous  and  irrepresaibly  girligh 
personality. 

'  So  this  ii  AuntJJJalia  1'  the  dreaded  stranger  cried, 


XJO 


UNDGR  SKAI^BD  ORDERS 


'« 


P;  :l 


i  \ 


taking  both  Miss  Cazalet's  hands  warmly  in  hers,  as  tht 
mistress  of  the  house,  with  solemn  dignity,  in  all  the 
glory  of  her  black  silk  and  her  creamy  lace  head-dress, 
stood  awsome  by  the  jasmine-covered  porch  to  receive 
them.  '  I've  heard  such  a  lot  about  Aunt  Julia  from  Owen 
and  Sacha  already  that  I  almost  '^eem  to  know  you  by 
anticipation ;  and  as  for  me,  I'm  afraid  you've  seen  a 
great  deal  too  much  of  me  in  the  papers  long  ago — those 
dreadful  papers  I  Oh  yes,  I  know — they've  stuck  me  in 
in  all  attitudes  and  all  earthly  costumes  till  I'm  sick 
of  seeing  in  print  "  Miss  lond  Dracopoli."  It's  simply 
wearisome.  But  what  a  sweet  little  cottage,  though — 
and  what  lovely  chrysanthemums  I  I  never  saw  such  a 
splendid  outdoor  specimen  in  my  life  as  that  white 
Japanese  one.    You  should  send  it  to  a  flower-show  1' 

Now,  chrysanthemums,  as  it  happened,  wore  Aunt 
Julia's  one  weakness  (we  are  all  of  us  human),  and  lond 
had  heard  of  that  weakness  beforehand,  and,  after  her 
feminine  fashion,  had  dexterously  utilized  it.  B«t  the 
remark  and  the  fresh  exuberance  of  that  brisk  youftg  life 
had  their  due  effect,  none  the  less,  in  mollifying  Aunt 
Julia's  stony  British  heart.  She  could  never  quite  forgira 
lond,  to  be  sure,  for  neglecting  to  distribute  an  Arable 
rersion  of  '  Jessica's  First  Prayer '  in  the  harem  at  Gran; 
but  she  admitted  to  herself  grudgingly  in  her  own  small 
soul  that  the  poor  child  was^  at  any  rate,  as  she  phrased 
it,  '  an  amiable  heathen.' 

As  for  Trevor  Gardener,  Aunt  Julia  thought  well  of  him 
at  the  very  first  blush — an  expression  which  in  this  case 
was  strictly  appropriate.  He  wore  spotless  kid  glovei 
and  very  shiny  white  shirt-cuffs,  the  sight  of  which  made 
her  feel  instinctively  sure  of  the  soundness  of  his  prin- 
ciples. For  not  only  were  principles  the  object  of  a 
perfect  idolatry  with  Aunt  Julia ;  they  were  also  recog- 
nisable to  the  naked  eye ;  she  spoke  oi  them  always  as  of 
articles  that  might  be  weighed  and  measured,  so  to 
speak,  by  the  square  foot  or  the  pound  avoirdupois. 
She  wan  a  connoisseur  in  principles,  indeed.  She  liked 
the  very  best,  and  she  knew  them  at  once  when  she  saw 
them. 

After  lunch,  Bacha  proposed  a  walk  on  the  riowns.  The 


SORE  TEMPTED 


<Si 


idea^  though  not  bo  very  original,  after  all,  Btraek  Owen 
at  once  as  partioularly  brilliant.  A  walk  on  the  downs  I 
How  clever,  now,  of  Sacha !  He  didn't  want  to  talk  to 
lonS  alone  for  anything  special  of  course ;  Mr.  Hay  ward's 
solemn  warning  against  the  pitfalls  of  the  sex  had  sunk 
too  deep  into  his  mind  for  any  such  wickedness  as  that ; 
but  still,  at  Aunt  Julia's,  you  know,  and  in  the  drawing- 
zoom,  before  all  those  listening  ears,  why,  what  could  one 
talk  about  worth  hearing  to  such  a  ^ 'rl  as  lonS?  For, 
though  Owen  had  only  met  long  half  a  dozen  times,  all 
told,  since  his  return  from  Morocco,  he  felt  vaguely  to 
himself  that  he  and  she,  while  not  the  least  bit  in  the 
world  in  love  with  one  another,  of  course,  had  yet  arrived 
instinctively — well,  at  a  sort  of  understanding  between 
themselves — that  kind  of  understanding,  don't  you  know, 
which  makes  it  quite  impossible  to  talk  your  mind  out 
freely  before  a  third  person. 

We  have  all  been  there  ourselves,  and  we  know  what  it 
means.  Not  love — oh  dear  no  t  not  necessarily  or  exactly 
what  you  may  call  downright  love,  don't  you  see,  but  a 
sort  of  sympathy,  or  friendship,  or  familiarity,  or  good 
fellowship,  or  let  us  even  say — ahem  1 — confidential  rela- 
tions. No  harm  in  the  world  in  confidential  relations. 
Provided  always — but  there,  what's  the  use  of  talking 
about  it  ?  We  have  been  there  ourselves,  I  repeat — and 
we  remember  where  it  landed  us  I 

As  they  strolled  up  the  hill,  all  four  of  them  together, 
the  path  between  the  hedge  and  the  wood  was  narrow. 
Only  room  for  two  abreast — so  they  paired  off,  naturally. 
Owen's  long  legs  made  him  stride  on  in  front ;  and  loni 
kept  up  with  him  hke  a  trained  mountain-climber. 
Trevor  Gardener,  on  the  contrary,  always  correct  in  his 
dress,  and  with  namesake  flower  in  his  buttonhole,  walked 
a  more  town-bred  pace  with  Sacha  behind.  The  two 
athletes  soon  distanced  him,  and  were  ivell  oat  of  earshot 
among  the  orimson-olad  beeches. 

'  I'm  glad  we  came  out,'  Owen  broke  forth  at  last,  after 
one  long  Jeep  pause,  gazing  hard,  though  askance,  at  his 
companion's  fresh  face.  '  It's  so  nice  to  be  alone  with  you 
once  again,  Ion&' 

He  said  it  with  the  shy  but  naive  frankness  of  the 


I 


^i!; 
M 


m 


UNDER  SEIAI^ED  ORDERS 


h,  I 


hobbledehoy  to  the  budding  girl.    long's  cheek,  alread 
rosy  with  the  walk  uphill,  £ushed  a  deeper  red  still  as  ha 
spoke — and  looked  at  her.     There  was  more  in  his  look 
ten  thousand  times  than  in  his  words. 

*  Then,  you  like  to  be  with  me,  Owen  ?*  she  asked, 
just  as  frankly,  in  return,  with  that  free  Greek  unreserve 
of  hers. 

Owen  started  and  looked  again. 

*  Why,  of  course  I  do  1'  he  answered  qmckly.  •  Who 
wouldn't,  lone?' 

lonS  stepped  on,  now  treading  springy  on  the  olos9 
sward  of  the  open  downs.  Her  footfall  was  light  and 
tripping  as  an  Oread^s. 

<  That's  nice !'  she  laid,  with  a  simple  smile.  '  One  likei 
best  to  be  liked  by  those  one  likes  one's  self,  don't  yoa 
think  ?  So  much  better  than  all  those  smart  men  one 
meets  up  in  London.' 

'  You  go  out  a  great  deal  ?'  Owen  asked,  trembling.  It 
meant  so  much  to  him. 

*  Well,  you  see,  just  this  season  I  was  a  sort  of  a  lioa. 
Next  year  it'll  have  worn  off,  and  everybody'll  have  for- 
gotten me.  But  this  year  I've  been  made  much  of,  and 
asked  out  for  a  show— just  to  swell  Mrs.  Brown's  or  Lady 
Vere  de  Vere's  triumph.' 

'  And  the  men  talk  a  great  deal  to  you  ?' 

*  Yes.  You  know  the  way  they  talk.  Men  who've  seen 
everything,  know  everybody,  go  everywhere.  Men  who 
say  clever  things — with  a  sting  in  the  tail.  Men  who  don't 
seem  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  truth  or  goodness  any- 
where. They  come  up  to  me,  all  outward  deference,  but 
with  a  lurking  suspicion  in  their  eyes  that  seems  to  say, 
**  Now,  what  game  are  you  playing?  How  do  you  want 
to  tackle  me?"  And  then  their  talkt'  She  mimicked 
them  mischievously.  <  "  Going  to  any  of  these  dances  to- 
night ?"  "  Yes,  going  to  two  or  three  of  them."  **  Know 
the  Burne- Joneses  ?"  "  No.  Why  ?  Are  they  giving  » 
party  ?"  I  heard  a  man  say  that  one  night,  in  town,  I 
MBure  you.  Oh,  isn't  it  just  sickening  ?  I'm  glad  the 
autumn's  come  and  the  season  s  all  over.  I'm  glad  to  get 
down  here,  if  it's  only  for  »  day — one  lovely  day — to 
nature  and  reality.' 


•ORB  TBMPTBD 


«SS 


*  ?t  wai  good  o!  you  to  oome,'  Owen  mnrmwefl,  atjashed 
and  aliaid.  '  I  was  so  awfully  glad  when  I  heard  you 
were  coming.' 

lend  turned  to  him  with  a  flash  of  light  in  her  happy 
eyes.  The  chestnut  hair  blew  free  round  her  face  in  the 
autumn  breeTie.    Her  glance  was  very  tender. 

'  Oh,  Owen  I  then  you  wanted  me?'  she  said.  She  was 
too  much  in  loye  with  him  herself  not  to  throw  herself  so 
upon  him. 

Owen  drew  baclk  and  hesitated.  He  knew  only  too  well 
he  was  on  dangerous  ground.  If  Mr.  Hayward  were  but 
^here  to  see  how  sorely  he  was  tempted  I  But  M.t.  Hay- 
ward  was  far  away,  and  lond  was  near — ^very  near  indeed. 
Her  breath  blew  warm  on  his  cheek.  Her  eyes  held  him 
and  fascinated  him. 

*Ye8,  I  wanted  yor — lond,*  he  said  slowly.  But  he 
said  it  with  a  reservation.  He  knew  how  very  wrong  it 
was.  This  siren  was  charming  him  away  from  the  plain 
path  of  duty. 

As  for  lend,  she  drew  back  like  one  stung.  The  reser- 
vation in  his  voice  roused  the  woman  within  her.  She 
felt  herself  slighted.  She  felt  she  had  flung  herself  upon 
him — and  he  had  rejected  the  boon.  Na  woman  on 
earth  can  stand  that.    She  drew  away  from  him  proudly. 

*  Let's  sit  down  and  wait  for  Saoha,'  she  said  coldly  m 
aa  altered  tone.  '  They'll  be  coming  up  soon.  I  oughtn't 
to  have  got  so  far  in  front  of  her.' 

It  was  Owen's  turn  now  to  feel  a  pang  of  remorse. 

'  Oh  no,  don't  let's  sit  down,'  he  cried ;  '  don't  deprive 
me  of  this  pleasure.  lond,  I've  longed  so  to  get  a  few 
words  with  you  alone  ever  since  you  arrived  at  Moor  Hill 
this  morning.  You  can't  think  what  a  joy  it  is  to  me  just 
to  walk  by  your  side,  just  to  hear  your  sweet  voice. 
You're  so  different  from  other  girlg.  I'm  bo  happy  when 
Vm  with  you.' 

<  Happy  ?'  lond  repeated,  half  angrily. 

*  Oh,  you  know  I  am.  You  can  see  it.  Why,  I  thrill 
all  over.' 

His  knees  trembled  as  he  said  it  But  he  said  it  all 
the  same.  He  looked  at  her  shyly  as  he  spoke,  blushing 
red  with  first  love.    He'd  have  given  worldn  to  kiss  heCi 


134 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


ll 


I 
?  i 

•.il      ■ 


I!   il    I 


And  he  wonid  have  done  it,  too — if  it  hadn't  been  for  tht 
Cause  and  Mr.  Hayward 

'  Then  why  did  you  say  in  that  tone  :  "  Ye-es — urn 
— I — ah — wanted  you — lone  "  ?* 

'Because,'  Owen  cried,  driven  to  bay,  and  with  hit 
heart  throbbing  wildly,  '  I  longed  to  say,  "  Yes,  madly— 
intensely — unspeakably."  But  I  know  it's  quite  wrong. 
I  oughtn't  to  speckk  so  to  you.' 

'  Why  not  ?*  lond  asked,  fronting  him  with  inexorable 
calmness. 

Owen  looked  at  her  harder  stilL 

Oh,  how  beautiful  she  was,  how  strong,  how  free,  how 
irresistible  I  Talk  about  the  Cause  indeed  I  What  was 
the  Cause  to  him  to-day  ?  Has  a  Cause  such  bright  eyes 
as  that,  such  red  lips,  such  blushing  cheeks,  such  a  heaT- 
ing  bosom  ?    Has  a  Cause  such  soft  hands  ? 

'  Because,'  he  faltered  feebly  once  more,  *  how  can  I 
fall  in  love  now — at  barely  twenty-one — and  with  nothing 
to  live  upon  7 

*  But  you  ha,v§  fallen  in  love/  lonfi  answered  demon- 
stratively. 

She  knew  it  better  than  he  did.  She  saw  it  quite 
clearly  in  his  face  by  this  time,  and  being  herself,  she 
said  BO, 

That  straight  statement  oi  *  plain  fact  helped  Owen 
out  immensely. 

'  Yes,  I  have  fallen  in  love,*  he  answered,  panting,  and 
with  his  heart  in  his  mouth.  '  Oh,  lonS,  so  very  much  I 
I  love  you  with  all  my  souL  I  shall  always  love  you — 
you  ever,  and  you  only.' 

'  I  knew  it,'  lonS  answered,  flushing  bright  red  once 
more,  and  with  the  love-light  in  her  eyes.  'And — I 
love  3  ou  the  same,  Owen.  I  loved  you  almost  from  that 
very  first  night  at  Ain-Essa.  .  .  .  And,  oh,  if  we  both 
feel  it,  why  shouldn't  we  say  so  ?' 

They  had  wandered  away  from  the  path  as  they  spokSi 
behind  great  clumps  of  holly  bushes. 

Owen  looked  at  her  once  more,  raised  his  hand,  and 
caught  hers  instinctively. 

'  Because  it  would  be  wrong  of  me  t'  he  murmured,  all 
tremulous,  clasping  her  finders  in  his  own.     *  I  mustn't 


11  1 


a 


I 

.  V,. 

I'M- 

if 


'I  SHALL  ALWAYS   LOVE    YOU."— Puge  136. 


! 

\ 


1 


80RB  TEMPTED 


ns 


fTen  kiss  yoxL'  But  he  bent  for^Kard  as  he  spoie.  '  I 
don't  belong  to  myself,*  he  cried ;  <  I  am  bought  with  a 
price.  I  should  bo  doing  injustice  to  others  if  I  were  to 
give  way  to  my  love  for  you.' 

*  What's  her  name  ?'  lonS  asked  teasingly,  withdraw- 
ing her  hand  with  a  coquettish  little  air  from  her 
lover's. 

For  she  knew  very  well  in  her  own  heart  there  was  no 
the  in  the  matter. 

*  Oh,  lone,'  Owen  cried,  all  reproach.  *  You  know  very 
well  there's  nobody  on  earth  I  caro  a  pin  for  but  you. 
And  for  you — I  would  die  for  you  I' 

*  Yes,  I  know,'  lond  answered,  turning  suddenly  round 
and  facing  him.  Her  voice,  though  still  tremulous,  rang 
quick,  clear,  and  decisive.  '  I  know  what  it  all  means ; 
I  guessed  it  long  ago.  You  don't  think  you  must  fall  in 
love  with  me,  because  you're  otherwise  engaged.  You 
promised  that  horrid  Nihilist  man  to  blow  up  the  Czar 
for  him.' 

She  had  played  a  bold  card,  played  it  well  and  effec- 
tively. She  meant  to  release  Owen  from  this  hateful 
thraldom,  as  she  felt  it  to  be,  and  she  went  the  right  way 
to  work  to  effect  her  purposa 

Owen  gazed  at  her  astonished.  How  had  she  divined 
his  secret  ?  Then,  in  a  moment,  it  came  over  him  like  a 
wave  that,  if  she  knew  all  already,  there  was,  and  could 
be  now,  no  barrier  between  them.  The  holly-bushes, 
thank  Heaven  t  rose  tall  and  thick,  and  screened  them 
from  observation.  He  seized  her  hand.  He  pressed  it 
hard.    He  touched  her  rich  red  lips. 

'  Oh,  my  darling  1'  he  cried,  in  a  transport  of  wild  joy 
i— of  sudden  relief  fro-m  terrible  tension,  *  I  love  ^wu-  I 
love  you  I    I  shall  always  lovs  Joa^K 

He  clasped  her  in  his  arms, 

fihd  nestled  there  gladlf  • 


»-ii 


fi 
i 


' 


ONDI^R  SBAI^KD  ORDERS 


CHAPTER  XXL 

(THB  EQUALITY  OF  WOMAlk 

It  was  quite  &  long  time  before  Sacha  '^^d  Trevoi 
Gardener  caught  them  up.  And  the  reason  t,  in  part, 
because  Sacha  and  Trevor  Gardener  were  ^--i-Uy  well 
employed  on  their  own  account  independently. 

He  was  a  shy  man,  Trevor  Gardener,  and  they'd 
climbed  a  long  way  up  the  steep  slope  of  the  hill  before 
he  turned  round  to  his  companion  with  a  sudden  burst, 
and  blurted  out  in  his  modestly  jerky  way : 

*  Look  here,  Sacha,  it  was  awfully  good  of  you  to 
suggest  we  should  come  out  like  this,  this  afternoon.  I 
was  80  angry  when  lonfi  first  proposed  to  run  down  with 
us.  I  wanted  a  tete-d-tite  with  yoa,  and  her  coming 
spoiled  it.' 

*  I  knew  you  did,  Trevor,'  Sacha  answered  calmly.  It 
had  been  '  Trevor '  and  '  Sacha '  from  the  very  first  with 
them  in  that  most  modern  household,  where  conventions 
were  not.  '  I  knew  you  did,  and  that's  why  I  proposed 
coming  out  here.' 

*  Oh,  how  kind  of  you  I'  Trevor  Gardener  cried,  looking 
admiration  unspoken  from  those  honest  blue  eyes.  '  So 
like  you,  too,  Sacha !' 

'  I  thought  it'd  be  best  to  get  it  over  once  for  all,' 
Sacha  answered,  unmoved  to  the  outer  eye.  But  she 
gathered  up  her  skirt  and  pinned  it  as  she  spoke,  with 
hands  that  trembled  just  a  wee  bit  more  than  one  would 
have  thought  quite  likely  with  such  a  girl  as  Sacha. 

Trevor  Gardener  gazed  at  her  astonished,  and  not  a 
little  troubled  in  mind. 

'  To  get  it  over  V  he  echoed,  ill  at  ease.  '  Oh,  Sacha« 
what  do  you  mean?    To  get  it  over  ?* 

*  "Well,  I  thought  you  had  something  to  say  to  me,* 
Bacha  continued,  outwardly  very  calm,  but  with  threa 
nervous  fingers  toying  quick  on  the  ivory  Japanese  button 
that  fastened  her  watoh-ohain.  '  I  gathered  it  from  your 
manner.  And  I  thought— -the  aooner  saidi  tho  goonar 
■landedi* 


THE  EQUALITY  OF  WOMAW 


Trevor  Gardener's  face' fell. 

•  Then  you  know  .  .  .  what  I  was  going  to  lay  to 
you  ?'  he  murmured,  much  crestfallen. 

'  Wo  women  have  our  mtuitions,'  Sacha  replied  oraen* 
larly,  still  playing  with  the  button. 

*  And  your  answer  would  have  been        ^ 
Sacha  laughed  an  amused  little  laugh. 

'  How  on  earth  can  I  say,  Trevor,'  she  exclaimed,  mon 
frankly  and  less  timidly,  'when  I  haven't  heard  your 
question  ?' 

Trevor  Gardener  glanced  askance  at  her,  the  shy  glanoe 
of  the  bashful  young  man. 

*  That's  true,'  he  mused,  hesitating.  '  But  still,  Sacha 
— ^your  intuitions,  you  know — ^you  might  guess  the  ques- 
tion/ 

Sacha  smiled  still  more  broadly. 

'What  a  funny  man  you  are  I'  she  oried,  pulling  m 
flower-head  as  she  passed.  *  You  want  me  to  play  both 
hands  at  once,  your  own  and  mine.  You  want  me  to 
give  both  question  and  answer.' 

Trevor  admitted  in  his  own  mind  she  was  perfectly 
And  yet,  somehow,  he  couldn't  muster  up  courage 
to  frame  in  words  what  he  wanted. 

'  Well,  you  meant  to  have  this  tite-d-Ute  with  me,  any- 
how ?'  he  suggested,  after  a  short  pause. 

'  Oh  yes,'  Sacha  answered.  *  I  told  you  80  befor«k  I 
wanted  to  get  it  over.* 

•It? 

•  Yes— it.' 

'  But  you  like  me,  don't  yon  V  the  young  man  burst  out 
I'lcadingly. 

Sacha's  face  flushed  rosy  red. 

'  I  Hke  you  very  much  indeed,*  she  replied.  *  When 
lirst  you  came  and  offered  to  do  our  work  for  as,  I  was 
only  interested  in  you — just  interested  in  you — nothing 
more,  because  I  saw  you  sympathized  with  us  and  under- 
stood our  motives.  But  the  more  I've  seen  of  you  the 
better  I've  liked  you.  I  like  your  simplicity  of  heart, 
your  strain litf or wardness  of  action,  your  singleness  of 
aim,  your  honest  earnestness,  I  see  you're  a  real  live 
man  with  a  soul  of  your  own,  among  all  these  tailoi-mad* 


right. 


m 

m 


iff 
m 


I 


w 

m 


■I 

■■•i 


If! 


■Hi 


■m 


: !  ■! 


\\V 

1  III 

it  |l, 
1  HI 


t^ 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


Frankenstein  dummies.    And  I'm  rery,  very  Tond  of  yon 
There,  now,  will  that  do  for  you  ?' 

She  turned  round  upon  hiji  almoflt  fiercely,  so  that 
the  young  man  quailed.  But  he  mustered  up  couri  ge 
all  the  same  to  look  her  full  in  the  face  and  add : 

*  And  you'll  say  yes  to  my  question,  then  ?  You  won't 
refuse  me  ?' 

*  What  is  it  7  Saoha  replied,  running  her  hand  through 
the  tall  grass  nervously  as  she  spoke.  '  See  here,  Trevor. 
You  compel  me  to  be  plain.'  Her  heart  was  beating 
Tiolently.  '  There  are  two  questions,  either  of  which 
you  may  mean  to  ask,  though  you  might  have  thought 
of  them  yourself  as  different.  One  is,  "Do  you  love  me  ?" 
The  other  is,  "  Will  you  marry  me  ?"  There,  now,'  her 
face  was  crimson,  but  she  went  on  v^ith  an  effort,  '  you've 
forced  me  to  ask  them  myself,  after  all.  It  isn't  woman's 
■phere — but  you've  driven  me  into  it.  Well,  which  of 
the  two  do  you  want  me  to  answer  7' 

Trevor  Gardener  seized  her  hand  and  held  it,  unre- 
sisted, one  second  in  his  own.  A  wave  of  delight  passed 
over  him  from  head  to  ^oot. 

'  Well,  the  first  one  first,'  he  said,  stammering.  '  Oh, 
Saoha,  do  you  love  me  ?' 

Saoha  tore  the  tiny  spikelets  from  the  grass-head  one  by 
one  with  trembling  fingers  as  she  answered  In  a  very  firm 
foice,  soft  and  low : 

*  Yes,  Trevor.' 

The  young  man'i  heart  gave  a  bound.  He  raised  her 
hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it  fervently. 

'  That's  everything  I'  he  cried,  overjoyed,  all  his 
timidity  deserting  him  now ;  for  when  a  woman  once 
admits  she  loves  you,  what  have  you  further  to  fear? 
'  And,  Sacha,  will  you  marry  me  ?' 

'  No,  Trevor,'  Sacha  said  just  as  firmly,  though  still 
lower,  and  with  a  faint  under-current  of  tremulousness  in 
her  voice.  '  I  love  to  be  with  you  here ;  but  I  will  never 
marry  you.' 

She  said  it  so  definitely  that  the  young  man  started 
back  in  unaffected  surprise.     He  saw  she  meant  it. 

'  Not  marry  me  I'  he  cried,  taken  aback,  '  when  you  love 
mc^  too  I    Oh,  Saoh«,  what  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  it? 


THB  EQUALITY  OF  WOllAN 


«99 


fliftoha  pat  her  hand  on  her  heart,  as  if  to  still  its 
throbbing.  But  her  answer  was  one  that  fairly  took 
his  breath  away,  none  the  less,  by  its  ntter  unexpected- 
ness. 

'You're  rioh,'  she  said  slowly,  'quite  rich,  Trevor, 
Aren't  you  ?' 

'  Oh,  not  so  rich  as  all  that  comes  to,'  the  stockbroker 
replied  apologetically,  as  who  should  say,  '  Well,  it's  not 
mj  fault  if  I  am;  but,  still,  comfortably  off.  I  could 
Knord  to  keep  you  in  the  position  you're  accustomed  to.' 

'  How  much  do  you  make  a  year  ?'  Sacha  asked,  still 
holding  that  throbbing  heart,  and  looking  into  his  face 
appealingly. 

'Well,  it  varies,'  the  young  man  answered;  'some- 
times more,  sometimes  less,  but  always  enough  to  live 
upon.' 

'A  thousand  a  year,  perhaps?  Sacha  suggested, 
Bsjning  a  sum  that  to  her  mind  seemed  princely  magni- 
ficence. 

'Oh  yes,  a  thousand  %  year,  certainly,'  Trevor 
answered,  smiling. 

'  Two  thousand  ?  Sacha  put  in  with  a  gasp,  her  heart 
beginning  to  sink. 

'  Oh  yes,  two  thousand,'  the  young  man  responded  ai 
•arelessly  as  if  it  were  a  mere  trifle.  What  on  earth 
Muld  she  be  driving  at  ? 

*  Three  thousand  ?'  Sacha  faltered. 

*  Well,  perhaps  three  thousand,'  Trevor  admitted  with 
eandour ;  '  though  that  depends  upon  the  year.  Still, 
one  time  with  another,  I  should  say — well,  yes,  about 
three  thousand.' 

Sacha  drew  a  deep  breath.  A  pained  look  crossed  her 
face. 

'Oh,  then  it's  quite  impossible t'  she  cried.  'Quite, 
quite  impossible  I' 

'  Why  so,  darling,'  Trevor  ventured  to  ask,  '  since  you 
fay  you  love  me  ?' 

Sacha  was  trembling  all  over.  Her  lips  looked  deadly 
pale.  But  she  forced  herself  to  speak  out,  with  all  the 
restrained  strength  of  her  strong  Bussian  nature. 

*  Because,  if  you're  as  rich  as  all  that,'  she  said  slowlji 


s 


r  i 


•V, 


I 


i 


n 


''if 


140 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


*  I  must  give  up  my  independence ;  I  must  give  up  my 
individuality ;  I  must  give  up  my  creed  in  life,  which  is 
the  equal  freedom  of  women  with  men ;  and  I  must  be 
merely  your  wife — like  the  girls  who  sell  themselves  to 
rich  fools  for  a  livelihood.  What  I  could  earn  by  my 
art  would  be  a  mere  drc]^  in  the  bucket.  If  ever  I 
married,  I  wanted  to  marry  a  man  whose  earnings  were 
only  about  the  same  as  my  own,  and  towards  whom  I 
could  feel  like  an  equal,  a  partner,  a  fellow  bread-winner.' 

She  said  it  very  earnestly.  It  was  her  faith,  her 
religion;  but  something  in  her  tone  made  Trevor 
Gardener  pause. 

'  Is  that  all  V  he  said  at  last,  after  a  long,  deep 
silence,  during  which  each  could  almost  hear  the  other's 
heart  beat. 

And  Sacha,  in  her  perfect  truthfulness,  was  constrained 
to  answer : 

'  No,  not  quite  all,  Trevor.' 

'And  what's  the  rest?'  he  asked  eagerly,  seizing  her 
hand  again  as  he  looked.  *  You  must  tell  me  now, 
darling.' 

Sacha  turned  away  her  flushed  face.  She  dared  not 
meet  his  honest  eyes. 

'  Oh,  don't  ask  me  that,  please  t'  she  cried.  *  Don't 
try  to  force  it  out  of  me  I  I  shall  have  a  hard  struggle 
to  keep  it  in,  I  know ;  but  I  don't  want  to  tell  you.' 

A  sudden  thought  flashed  all  at  once  across  Trevor 
Gardener's  mind.  Many  things  grew  clear  to  him  in  one 
of  those  rapid  intuitions  that  sometimes  break  in  upon  U8 
at  great  critical  moments. 

*  I  know  it  I  I  know  it  I'  he  cried  eagerly.  *  You 
need  say  no  more.    It's  on  account  of  Owen.' 

'  What  do  vou  mean  ?'  Sacha  cried,  facing  him  in  her 
terror,  and  tnoroughly  frightened  now;  'I  never  told 
you  so.' 

'  No,'  the  young  man  answered.  '  But  I  see  it  for  my- 
self.  You  don't  want  to  do  anything  while  Owen's 
future  remains  so  uncertain.' 

Sacha  gazed  at  him  all  appalled.  What  had  he  found 
out  about  Owen  ?  Shd  put  forth  her  hand  and  clutched 
his  arm  in  her  nervous  excitement. 


I 


THB  EQUALITY  OF  WOMAN 


141 


'  Owen'B  future  t'  she  cried,  deadly  pale.  '  Why,  who 
lold  you  that,  I  wonder  7 

Trevor  Gardener  in  his  turn  felt  a  sudden  thrill  of 
reyelation.  There  was  more  in  this  than  he  knew.  He 
had  touched  some  strange  chord  in  her  nature  too  lightly. 

'  Sacha,'  he  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  regret,  '  I've  done 
wrong,  I  see ;  but  I  didn't  know.  I  didn't  understand 
it — though  I  half  understand  now.  But  only  half.  I 
think  I  can  partly  guess.  Owen's  not  his  own  master. 
He's  sailing,  I  fancy,  under  sealed  orders.' 

'  You  have  said  it — not  I,'  Sacha  faltered,  all  tremb- 
ling.    *  I  know  no  more  than  you  do.* 

The  young  man  seized  her  hand  once  more,  and  raised 
it  reverently  to  his  lips. 

'  I  ask  you  no  questions,'  he  said.  '  I  respect  your 
unspoken  wish.  But  some  day  this  knot,  no  doubt,  will 
unravel  itself.  Till  then  I'll  wait  for  you.  And  if  not— • 
why,  Sacha,  I'll  wait  for  you  for  ever.' 


m 


ir 


CHAPTER  XXn 

THB   NEaCBSIB  OF  OULTUBB. 

In  London,  that  same  afternoon,  it  occurred  quite 
casually  to  Mr.  Henley  Stokes,  at  6,  Pump  Court, 
Temple,  that,  as  Sacha  and  lonS  had  gone  down  to  Moor 
Hill  for  the  day  together,  Blackbird  might  possibly  find 
herself  rather  lonely  at  the  flat  off  Victoria  Street.  So, 
being  a  good-natured  though  timid  and  unsophisticated 
young  man,  prone  to  attempt  works  of  charity  in  however 
humble  a  sphere,  he  decided  with  himself,  after  an  in- 
ternal struggle,  to  step  round  to  the  flat  and  bear  the 
Cinderella  company. 

Mr.  Henley  Stokes  was  always  close-shaven,  but  seldom 
did  his  face  look  so  preternaturally  clean  and  shiny  as  on 
that  particular  afternoon.  Mr.  Henley  Stokes  wore  an 
orchid  in  his  buttonhole  as  a  matter  of  principle.  He 
was  'sound,'  the  Birminghiim  party  said,  very  sonnd, 
politioBlly;  but  never  in  his  life  before  had  so  gorgeona 


'■'i'j 


i 


Si 


I 


I  \ 


.I; 


M* 


UNDSR  SBAUtD  ORDBRS 


an  orehid  graced  his  best  £rock-co»t,  or  bo  glossy  a  iaD 
silk  hat  pressed  the  curls  on  his  forehead.  He  stood  long 
before  the  glass  arranging  his  tie  in  a  loose  sailor  knot 
before  he  went  out ;  and  as  he  glided  along  on  the  Dis- 
torict  Bailway  in  a  first-class  carriage,  he  flashed  his  cofla 
more  than  once  with  uneasy  solicitude. 

It  was  clear  that  Henley  Stokes,  good  philanthropist 
as  he  was,  attached  much  importance  to  saving  Hope 
Braithwaite  from  the  dulness  of  her  solitude. 

When  he  rang  at  the  door  of  the  flat,  Blackbird 
opened  it  to  him  herself,  and  then  ran  back  into  the 
passage. 

Her  sleeves  were  rolled  up  to  the  elbows,  and  she  wore 
over  her  dress  a  dainty  cretonne  apron ;  but  she  looked 
as  graceful  as  ever  for  all  that,  in  her  lithe,  though 
melancholy  girlish  fashion. 

'  I'm  housemaid  to-day,  yon  see,'  she  said,  somewhat 
less  listlessly  than  usual,  puUing  her  sleeves  down 
hurriedly.  '  Ion§  answers  the  door  as  a  rule.  But  the 
others  are  gone  away.  You  must  excuse  my  appear- 
ance.' 

Henley  Stokes  stammered  out  something  inaudible 
about  her  appearance  requiring  no  apology — quite  the 
contrary,  quite  the  contrary — and  followed  ner  into  the 
passage,  looking  intensely  sheepish. 

Blackbird,  too,  had  an  air  as  of  one  caught  at  lome 
awkward  moment. 

'  You  must  let  me  run  out  into  the  laboratory  a  second,' 
she  said,  almost  blushing  in  those  pallid  thin  cheeks  of 
hers.  '  I've  something  to  put  away  out  thera  I — er—- 
I  was  pottering  about  with  my  chemicals.' 

*  Oh,  let  me  come  and  help  you,'  the  barrister  put  in 
confusedly.  '  You  see,  I  know  all  the  back  premises  so 
well,  of  course.  I  cleared  away  all  that  litter  there  be- 
fore you  were  up  this  morning.' 

'  Oh  no,  you  madtn't  come,'  Blackbird  cried,  waving 
him  back;  but  the  philanthropic  young  man  wouldn't 
brook  being  gainsaid.  He  followed  her  out  into  the  little 
pantry — for  it  was  really  nothing  more — and  helped  her 
to  take  off  the  queer  thmgs  she  was  brewmg. 

It  was  only  casually  as  he  di^  bo  that  he  Happened  to 


I 


THB  NBKBSIS  09  CUI^TUXB 


HI 


obserye  she  had  been  distilling  something  greenish  from 
a  heap  of  bruised  leaves.  A  book  of  directions  lay  open 
on  the  table  at  'Hydrocyanic  Acid.'  A  smell  as  of 
lanrei'Water  pervaded  the  little  laboratory. 

But  at  the  moment  Henley  Stokes  hardly  heeded 
these  details.  His  mind  was  too  much  occupied — so  he 
thought  just  then — with  more  important  matters. 

They  cleared  away  the  mess,  strained  the  water  from 
the  bruised  leaves,  and  put  the  still  she  had  been  working 
with  into  the  corner  cupboard.  Then  Blackbird  suddenly 
transformed  herself  into  a  drawing-room  lady.  She 
loosed  her  gieat  mass  of  black  hair  ab~nt  her  face  and 
shoulders,  pulled  off  her  pretty  apron,  replaced  her  white 
cuffs,  and  went  back  to  the  &ont-room,  followed  closely 
by  her  visitor. 

There  she  flung  herself,  as  was  her  wont,  into  the  long 
wicker  chair,  and  clasped  her  hands  b«kund  her  head. 

<  You  look  tired,'  Henley  Stokes  ventured  to  murmur 
sympathetically. 

•  Yes,  tired,'  she  echoed,  closing  her  eyes,  '  very  tired 
indeed,'  in  n  voice  of  utter  lassitude.  '  When  wasn't  I 
tired,  I  should  like  to  know  ?'  she  added,  almost  fiercely. 
'  I  was  bom  tired,  I  believe ;  at  any  rate,  I've  been  tired 
ever  since — as  long  as  I  can  remember  I've  been  tired 
uninterruptedly,  dead  tired,  dog  tired  1  It's  the  epitomt 
of  my  existence.' 

The  young  man  leaned  across  towards  her. 

'  Miss  Braithwaite '  he  began,  half  tenderly. 

Blackbird  lifted  her  lids,  looked  up  at  him,  and  flasbti 
fire  from  her  lustrous  eyes. 

'  How  strange  it  is,'  she  cried  petulantly,  '  that  yoa 
call  both  the  others  by  their  Ohristiaci  names  ;  but  yon 
oall  ms,  as  if  on  purpose,  so  stiffly,  Miss  Braithwaite. 
Do  you  do  it  intentionally  ?  Why  this  invidious  distine- 
tion?' 

'  Invidious  I'  Healey  answered,  taken  aback.  '  Oh  no, 
it  isn't  invidious.  I  eould  hardly  explain  to  you  the 
reason  just  yot ;  but  it's  because — well,  because  I  respect 
and  hke  you  so  much.  When  yoi  respect  a  woman  im- 
mensely, don't  you  know,  you-  er — are  afraid  to  take 
liberties  with  her.' 


I 


u\ 


m 


i 


I 


11 


f« 


n 


'» 


m 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


*  I  don't  ask  you  to  take  liberties/  Blackbird  cried,  half 
pouting.     '  Yon  take  no  liberties  with  Sacha.' 

<  Dear  me,  no  1'  Henley  answered  submissively,  with 
tk  smile  at  the  bare  idea.  '  I  can't  imagine  anyone  bra^e 
enough  to  take  liberties  with  Miss  Gazalet.' 

*  And  yet  you  call  her  Saoha,'  Blackbird  retorted,  un- 
crossing and  recrossing  her  hands  with  nervous  agitation. 

'  WeU,  I'd  call  you  Hope — if  I  dared/  the  young  man 
■aid  shyly. 

Blackbird  fired  up  at  the  word. 

*Hopet'  she  cried,  with  a  wild  gesture  of  repulse— 
*  Hope  I  Hope  I  and  to  me  i  They  christened  me  Hope, 
did  they?  They  should  have  called  me  Despair.  It 
would  have  been  much  more  appropriate.' 

Henley  Stokes  looked  pityingly  at  her  from  those 
honest  kind  eyes  of  his. 

*  No,  no,'  he  put  in  hastily.  *  Don't  say  that,  please 
.  .  .  Blackbird.  I  may  call  you  Blackbird  ?  Oh,  thank 
you.  It's  so  kind  of  you.  .  .  .  And  you  know  why  I 
never  called  you  Blackbird  before,  till  this  very  day, 
though  all  the  others  did,  and  though  I  called  the  others 
lond  and  Sacha  ?  You  mmt  know.  Can't  you  guess  ? 
It  isn't  very  difficult.' 

Blackbird  shook  her  head  sturdily.  This  was  a  bad 
afternoon  with  her. 

'  WeU,  because  I  loved  you,  then,'  Henley  Stokes  went 
on.  '  And  when  a  man  really  loves  a  girl,  he's  a  thousand 
times  more  particular  about  what  he  says  or  does  to  her 
--«  thousand  times  more  careful  of  her  dignity  and  her 
sanctity — than  with  all  the  others.' 

He  spoke  rapidly,  thickly,  but  with  a  mingled  earnest- 
ness and  nervousness  that  might  have  melted  a  stone. 
And  he  watched  Blackbird's  face  as  he  spoke,  not  daring 
to  take  her  hand,  though  it  lay  on  the  wicker  ledge  of  the 
long  low  chair,  just  six  inches  from  his  own.  He  was 
trembling  all  over.  Blackbird  saw  his  eyes  glance  for  a 
second  at  those  thin  white  fingers,  as  if  in  doubt  whether 
to  clasp  them  or  not,  and  withdrew  them  hurriedly. 
Henley  noted  the  action  and  s'ghed.  There  was  a  long 
deep  pause.  Then  Blackbird  began  once  more  in  her 
weary  Toioe : 


THE  NEMESIS  OF  CULTURB 


145 


Why  do  you  say  these  things  to  me  ? 

*  I've  told  you,'  the  young  man  answered,  thrilling. 
•Because  I  love  you,  Blackbird.' 

Blackbird  raised  her  white  hand — thin,  delicate,  blu«> 
veined — and  snapped  one  slender  middle  finger  against 
the  thumb  most  daintily.  In  any  other  woman  the  action 
would  have  been  trivial,  nay,  almost  vulgar.  In  Black- 
bird it  seemed  so  spirituaUzed  and  etherealized  by  the 
length  and  thinness  of  the  fingers  that  Henley's  heaii 
only  sank  at  it. 

'  Love  I'  she  cried,  with  a  sudden  outburst.  *  Love, 
love  I  What  is  it  ?  Pain  I  know  and  sleep  I  know — 
sleep  less  well  than  pain — but  pleasure  and  love  ? — in  my 
world,  they  are  not.' 

Henley  Stokes  gazed  down  upon  her  with  eyes  of 
infinite  pity.  This  strange  aerial  creature,  all  music  and 
thought,  with  no  body  to  speak  of,  had  yet  a  strange 
fascination  for  the  well-dressed,  well-to-do,  simple-hearted 
man  about  town.  She  had  the  double  attraction  of 
novelty  and  contrast.  She  was  not  in  the  least  like 
himself,  not  the  least  hke  anybody.  She  was  unique, 
unmatchable.  But  he  hardly  knew  what  to  say,  all  the 
same,  to  so  curious  an  outbreak. 

•  Sleep  you  know  1'  he  murmured  low.  *  And  is  that 
the  very  nearest  you  ever  get  to  pleasure,  Blackbird  ?* 

The  girl  threw  back  her  well-poised  head,  turned  up 
her  lustrous  eyes,  and  displayed  unconsciously  to  the 
best  advantage  that  full  and  luscious  throat  which  marks 
the  vocalist's  temperament. 

'  The  very  nearest  I  ever  get  to  it/  she  answered 
■lowly.  *  Yes,  the  very,  very  nearest.'  She  clasped  her 
blue-veined  hands  behind  her  head  once  more,  and  closed 
her  big  eyes  dreamily.  Henley  longed  to  stoop  over  her 
and  kiss  the  full  throat,  in  his  pure,  warm  passion  ;  but 
his  heart  misgave  him.  Blackbird  drew  a  deep  breath  or 
two  ;  her  bosom  rose  and  fell.  She  sighed  as  naturally 
aa  though  no  one  were  looking  on.  She  was  too  modern, 
too  weak,  too  frail  to  be  afraid  oL  him.  ♦  No,  I  don't 
often  sleep,'  she  went  on,  as  if  two-thirds  to  herself. 
'  Mostly,  now,  I  lie  awake,  and  repeat  those  sweet  Une8 
from  Andrew  Lang's  Ballade,  that  I  set  to  musio : 

10 


6 


■^ 


M 


'A 


11 

i  ^ 

1  1 

■  i 

1  -! 

1  i 

1 

11 

; 


i.  i 


I4i  UNDER  SEAI^BD  ORDEltS 

**8by  dreams  flit  to  and  fro 

With  shadowy  hair  dispread  f 
With  wistful  eyes  that  glow, 

And  silent  robes  that  sweep. 
Thou  wilt  not  hear  me — no  f 
Wilt  thou  not  hear  me,  Sleep  f 

But  ■ometimes  at  last  I  doze  off  for  an  hoar  or  two; 
and  then  it's  all  so  beautiful,  so  soft,  so  heavenly. 
Perhaps  I  may  dream,  and  even  dreams  are  delicious — 
for  dream,  too,  is  from  Zeus,  as  Agamemnon  says  to 
Calchas,  in  the  "  Iliad."  But  oftener  I  fall  asleep  and 
lie  like  a  log  for  an  hour  or  two  without  knowing  it  at 
all — just  the  same  as  if  I  were  dead ;  and  that's  lovelies « 
of  everything.  Perhaps  the  reason  I  love  Sleep  so  weh' 
is  because  he  seems  to  promise  Death,  too,  will  be  gentle.' 

•  Oh,  don't  talk  like  that,  Blackbird !'  Henley  cried, 
elasping  his  hands  together  in  genuine  distress.  <  When 
you  speak  bo  it  frightens  me.  At  your  age  it  isn't 
natural.' 

But  Blackbird  was  now  enjoying  the  one  tremulous 

i'oy  she  really  knew — that  of  pouring  forth  her  sad  soul 
ike  a  nightingale  in  the  woods  to  a  sympathetic  listener 
-—and  she  wasn't  going  to  be  balked  of  ner  amusement 
for  80  little. 

'  Just  think  how  delicious  it  would  be,'  she  went  on, 
■till  dreamily,  with  eyes  tight  shut  and  head  thrown 
back  inert  on  the  padded  chair,  'to  lie  down  like  thii 
and  grow  drowsy,  drowsy,  drowsy ;  and  be  dimly  con- 
scious one  need  never  wake  up  again,  or  move  one's 
tired  limbs,  or  get  bothered  with  thinking.  How  delicious 
to  feel,  without  even  knowing  it,  the  grass  growing  green 
above  one's  weary  limbs ;  to  rest  on  a  bed  one  need  never 
leave ;  to  be  at  peace  at  last — all  peace — and  for  ever  1' 

'Blackbird I  the  young  man  said;  'if  you  talk  so, 
you'll  kiU  me  r 

'What  a  service  I  should  be  doing  you  I'  Blackbird 
answered,  all  at  once  opening  her  eyes,  and  gazing  hard 
at  him.  '  Don't  you  think  it  i  one  of  the  worst  miseries 
of  our  life  here  on  earth  to  be  told  from  time  to  time 
how  others  have  died — this  one  first,  and  then  that  one 
— and  to  remember  all  the  while  that  years  upon  yean 
may  have  to  pass  befora  •▼or  we  can  follow  themf 


1 


THB  NEMESIS  OP  CULTURF 


M7 


Henley  Stokes  leaned  across  to  her  in  genuine  distress ; 
but  he  changed  the  key  suddenly. 

'  Blackbird,'  he  began  in  a  very  abrupt  tone — he  loved 
to  repeat  that  name,  now  he  had  once  summoned  up 
courage  to  call  her  by  it — *  don't  you  want  to  be  loved? 
Don't  you  long,  oh,  ever  so  much,  for  someone  to  lov4 
you?' 

To  his  immense  surprise,  Blackbird  clenched  her 
hands  hard,  and  sat  upright  in  her  seat  with  unexpected 
energy. 

'Long  for  it?'  she  cried,  ft  passionate  wave  surging 
over  her  pale  face.  'Hionger  and  thirst  for  it  I  Fine 
and  die  for  it  I  From  my  babyhood  upward,  Fve  been 
yearning  to  be  loved.  I  want  somebody  to  sympathize 
with  me,  to  pet  me,  to  be  fond  oi  me  \* 

'  And  now  you've  got  it  T  Henley  Stokei  muimared 
slowly. 

'And  now  I've  got  it,'  Blackbird  answered.  (Was 
ever  so  strange  a  wooing?)  She  thrust  her  clenched 
little  fists  in  her  cheeks,  and  bit  her  lip  till  it  bled.  '  Oh, 
you  r^oor — poor  soul  i'  she  cried ;  *  what  on  earth  oah  I 
say  to  you  V 

'  Don't  yor  hde  me  T  the  young  man  asked,  bending 
uver  her. 

♦  Like  you  ?'  Blackbird  echoed.  '  If  anyone  will  love 
me  I  could  devour  him,  I  could  worship  him  I  I  could 
fall  down  before  him  and  let  him  trample  me  to  death  I 
I  could  kill  mysolf  by  slow  torture  for  him  I' 

Dimly  even  then,  Henley  Stokes  was  aware  that,  in 
the  midst  of  these  ardent  protestations,  true  and  heart- 
felt as  they  were,  the  poor  child  was  thinking  of  herself 
all  the  time,  not  of  him ;  but  he  was  too  preoccupied 
for  his  own  part  with  Blackbird's  sorrows  to  06  d^&nitely 
conscious  of  that  strang<i  limitation. 

'  And  you'll  love  me  ?'  he  cried,  his  heart  coming  up 
into  his  mouth  for  joy.  *  Oh,  say  you  won't  refuse  to 
let  me  love  you  ?' 

'  Love  you  t'  Blackbird  answered,  clasping  her  handi 
on  her  knees  and  sitting  up  still  to  look  straight  at  him. 
'  Why,  I  can't  help  loving  you.  If  ft  orossing-sweepor 
were  to  love  m%  1  must  loTt  him  fai  rttum,  I  yearn  m 


il'Al 


I'.ifi 


/  „ 


X4S 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


for  fympathy.  And  you — I  love  you — oh  yes !  Oh,  ere* 
so  much  I  I'm  bo  grateful  to  you — so  pleased  with 
you.' 

'  And  I  may  take— just  one/  the  young  man  said, 
pleading  hard  and  leaning  forward  tentatively. 

At  that  movement,  ever  so  slight,  Blackbird  drew  back 
all  abashed.  The  bare  proposal  seemed  to  shock  her — 
nay,  almost  to  frighten  her.     She  trembled  all  over. 

'  Oh  no  1'  she  cried  aghast.  '  Not  that — that,  never ! 
I'm  so  grateful  for  your  love ;  but  you  didn't  want — to 
hiss  me  1' 

She  said  it  with  an  accent  of  reproach — almost  of 
positive  disgust.    But  Henley  Stokes  was  more  human. 

'Well,  yes,  I  did,'  he  said  stoutly,  with  the  unre- 
generate  simplicity  of  a  £lesh-and-blood  young  man. 
'  That  was  just  what  I  meant.  I  wanted  to  kiss  yoa, 
Blackbird.' 

The  girl  shrank  back  into  the  chair  like  one  cowed. 

<  Oh,  you  misunderstand  V  she  cried,  in  an  almost 
agonized  voice.  '  I  only  meant  I  loved  you.  I  didn't 
mean  I  could  kiss.  Such  things  as  that  must  never  coma 
in  between  us  I' 

It  was  Henley's  turn  now  to  draw  back,  astonished. 

'  But  ...  I  took  this  as  a  proposal,'  he  faltered  out 
slowly,  *  and  ...  I  thought  .  .  .  you  accepted  me.  II 
we're  to  consider  ourselves  engaged — why,  surely,  surely, 
I  ought  to  kiss  you  I' 

'  Engaged  I'  Blackbird  repeated,  in  a  tone  of  unutter> 
able  contempt.     '  What  ?    Engaged  to  be  married  I  .  . 
Oh  no,  dear,  dear  friend  I     I  never  dreamt  even  of  that. 
It's  impossible.  Impossible  I  "Wholly,  wholly  impossible  !* 

*  Why  ?'  Henley  Stokes  asked,  all  trembling. 

This  riddle  was  too  hard  for  him.  What  a  grand 
creature  she  was,  to  be  sure  1  He  could  never  under 
stand  her. 

Instead  of  answering  him.  Blackbird  burst  into  a 
sudden  flood  of  tears. 

•  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  to-day,'  she  sobbed  out,  holding 
his  hand  and  rising.  'I'm  so  happy — so  happy!  So 
mnoh  happier  than  I  ever  was  in  my  life  before.  Now 
I  ksow  ftt  iMt  whftt  happiness  means.    Don't  let  m§ 


? 


♦ 


THB  PATH  OP  DUTY 


t49 


kill  it  outright — don't  let  me  spoil  it  by  telling  yon  why 
an  ent];agement's  impossible.' 

And  she  rushed  over  to  the  piano,  throbbing  and 
sobbing  like  a  child,  and  took  refuge  in  a  weird  piece  of 
her  own  melancholy  musio. 


CHAPTER  XXm. 

THB  PATH  or  DUVT. 

That  evening  lonS  went  back  to  town,  and  Owen  was 
left  by  himself  at  the  Bed  Cottage.  He  had  a  bad  half- 
hour,  as  soon  as  she  was  gone,  with  his  accusing  con- 
science. And,  what  was  worse,  the  bad  half-hour 
lengthened  itself  out  by  degrees  into  a  sleepless  night, 
in  the  course  of  which  Owen  tossed  and  turned,  and  got 
no  rest  for  his  poor  brain,  thinking  feverishly  of  the 
Cause,  and  Mr.  Hayward  betrayed,  and  bleeding  Russia 
abandoned  to  her  fate,  and  .  .  .  lond  Dracopoli'B  sweet 
imile  of  sunshine. 

Yes,  try  as  he  would,  he  couldn't  get  lond  Dracopoli's 
pretty  face  out  of  his  head  for  a  minute.  He  knew  it 
was  wrong;  but  he  couldn't  help  it.  He  was  in  love 
with  lone,  very  deeply  in  love  ;  but  to  what  end  could  it 
lead  ?  He  was  ashamed,  himself,  even  to  put  the  ques- 
tion. 

For,  as  he  lay  awake  there  in  his  bed,  running  over  his 
hazardous  rdle  in  life,  he  was  conscious  of  one  wicked, 
one  backsliding  preoccu])ation — he  thought  most  now, 
not  of  betrayal  to  the  Causae,  but  of  rocks  ahead  for 
lone. 

That  was,  in  truths  the  very  head  and  front  of  his 
offending.  He  loved  lone ;  but  how  could  he  ever  hope, 
even  in  the  dim  future,  to  marry  her?  He  oughtn't  to 
have  allowed  himself  lo  give  way  as  he  did  to-day ;  their 
lips  should  never  have  met ;  those  last  fatal  words  of 
avowal  should  never  have  been  spoken.  For  lone's  sake 
not  for  the  Cause's ;  for  this  fresh  Greek  Circe  was  lead- 
ing him  on  into  a  hopeless  love  affair.  He  ooold  never 
marry  anybody,  ha  saw  thai  qoita  elearly  now.     His 


jii- 


!l!^ 


(     ■(:. 


1% 


m 


Km 

'  1    7     ■ 


i  \i 


;| 


t ) 


it 


rm 


UNDER  SBALBD  0RDBR9 


whole  life  wis  mortgaged.  Jnst  in  proportion  as  h« 
loved  lond  did  the  feeling  grow  stronger  from  hour  to 
hoar  upon  him  that  he  could  never  ask  any  woman  on 
earth  to  share  his  perilous  fate  with  him.  He  must  go 
through  life  with  a  halter  round  his  neck ;  he  must  tread 
the  crumbling  ash  on  the  brink  of  a  volcano.  Any  day 
he  might  be  called  upon  to  strike  that  blow  for  Bussia, 
and  success  must  mean  death — a  felon's  death,  amid  th« 
hushed,  half-admiring  execration  of  all  civilized  Europe. 
For  himself  that  was  nothing ;  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  the  idea  in  his  own  mind  so  long,  and  had  heard  iti 
glories  painted  in  such  glowing  colours  by  the  man  he  most 
respected  and  revered  on  earth,  that  it  had  no  greater 
terrors  for  him  '  \.an  the  idea  of  active  service  has  for  the 
born  soldier.  But  for  lon^ — ah,  that  was  different — 
how  different,  oh,  how  different !  Gould  he  expose  hor 
to  such  a  risk,  such  a  strain,  such  a  catastrophe  ? 

Happy,  whole-hearted,  easy-going  English  lad  that  he 
was,  he  had  sat  consciously  without  one  qualm  on  a 
barrel  of  gunpowder. 

For  the  very  first  time  in  his  life,  however,  on  his  bed 
that  night,  Owen  thought  the  whole  thing  out  to  himself, 
quite  definitely  and  in  full  detail.  Let  him  get  into  the 
diplomatic  service,  for  example,  and  be  engaged  to  lonA. 
Suppose,  then,  the  chance — that  supreme  chance  of  hie 
life  to  which  he  had  been  taught  from  childhood  to  look 
forward  with  eagerness — should  arrive  during  the  yean 
while  he  was  still  waiting  for  lond.  He  clapped  hif 
hands  on  his  eyes,  pressing  the  pupils  hard,  and  pictured 
the  whole  scene  to  himself  vividly,  graphically.  He  saw 
it  unfold  itself  before  his  mental  vision  in  long  panorama 
as  it  might  actually  occur.  He  realized  his  mission  witk 
intense  actuality. 

He  stood  in  a  ballroom  at  Vienna,  he  would  suppose, 
or  no,  in  a  great  hall  of  the  palace  at  Laeken,  on  the  hill 
behind  Brussels,  some  early  summer  evening.  Princi- 
palities and  powers  floated  before  his  eyes,  glittering  witk 
such  garish  decorations  as  the  essentially  barbaric  royal 
mind  delights  in.  Men  in  uniform  clustered  in  groups 
with  gay  ladies  in  Court  dress.  He  saw  the  glare  of 
diamoBOf,  the  flash  of  scarlet  faoiiigs.     Aides-de-eamp 


TEB  PATH  OP  DUTT 


: 


and  ohamberlains  jostled  page  and  laekey.  At  one  end 
embodied  Belgium  stood,  awkwardly  regal,  with  All  the 
Bussias  by  his  side,  among  a  tinsel  throng  of  blazing 
stars  and  orders.  Every  gewgaw  that  makes  majesty  for 
the  vulgar  mind  contributed  its  part  to  that  brave  show 
— dress,  feathers,  swords,  music,  the  loud  blare  of  the 
band,  the  dazzling  splendour  of  electric  light,  the  pomp 
of  sewer  and  seneschal,  the  powdered  cheeks  and  scented 
bosoms  of  beautiful  women. 

And  through  the  midst  of  it  all,  as  in  a  prophetic  haze, 
Owen  saw  himself  strolling  calmly  in  his  Foreign  Office 
uniform  —  an  alien  element,  tall,  broad -built,  con- 
temptuous, looking  down  from  his  stately  eminence  of 
■ix  feet  two,  as  was  his  wont,  on  the  surging  mob  of 
smaller  folk  around  him.  He  crossed  the  floor  again  and 
again,  with  his  easy  gliding  tread  and  a  smile  on  his  lips, 
stopping  here  to  murmur  a  word  or  two  in  his  purest 
Parisian  to  an  ambassador's  wife,  or  there  to  address  a 
few  guttural  compliments  to  a  high  well-bom  countess 
or  a  serene  altitude.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  a  pause,  ft 
hush,  a  movement.  All  the  Bussias,  star-bedizened, 
strides  slowly  down  the  midst,  through  a  lane  that  opens 
differential,  spontaneous,  automatic — a  Queen  Consort 
on  his  arm — there,  before  him.,  the  enemy  I  .  .  .  Owem 
stands  by  and  sees  the  chance  arrive.  The  victim  passes 
close  to  him.  Quick  as  thought,  out  with  the  sword — 
no  tailor's  toy,  but  a  serviceable  blade  hanging  tmsty  by 
his  side — or  else,  still  better,  up  with  the  avenging 
revolver  from  his  waistcoat  breast,  and  .  .  .  crash  .  .  . 
it  buries  itself  in  the  tyrant's  bosom.  Then  a  noise,  ft 
commotion,  a  rushing  up  on  all  sides.  Blood  gargles 
from  a  wound,  angry  hands  lie  hard  on  the  avenger's 
shoulder.  Owen  lets  the  revolver  fall  and  stands,  arms 
crossed,  smiling  scornfully.  Let  them  do  their  worst 
now.  Bussia  is  vindicated,  and  Justice  has  wreaked  her 
will  on  the  chief  executioner. 

He  had  seen  that  picture  before — more  than  once  in 
his  day-dreams — but  never  at  all  so  dearly.  He  had 
watched  the  man  drop ;  he  had  stood  so,  bolt  upright, 
tall,  strong,  calm,  triumphant,  conscious  of  right  on  his 
side,  a  wuling  martyr  to  a  great  Cause,  looking  down 


li'i- 


i!i  ' 


y'\ 


■  1^ 


m 


t.,!» 


<  ill 

III 


l! 


i 


iji  UNDER  SBAI^ED  ORDEAS 

with  oold  disdain  on  scared  flankeys  around  him*  But 
never  till  to-night  had  he  notioed  so  plainly  blood  oozing 
out  of  the  wound,  horrid  filth  on  the  floor,  the  terrified 
faces  of  pale  women  behind,  the  hateful  physical  accom- 
paniments of  a  political  assassination.  He  had  thought 
of  himself  always  till  then  as  the  central  figure  of  the 
scone — avenging  democracy  personified  and  victorious. 
To-night  he  was  somehow  more  conscious  of  his  victim  as 
well,  and  though  he  recognised  the  man  still  as  a 
criminal  to  be  punished  without  fear  or  remorse,  he 
remembered  for  the  first  time  in  his  liic  that  even  an 
autocrat  is  human,  built  up  of  red  blood  and  warm  flesh, 
as  we  are. 

But  that  wasn't  the  point,  either,  that  made  him  p'/^asa 
the  most.  You  may  wonder  at  it,  of  c  urse ;  but  ocui' 
sider  his  upbringing  I  It  was  lone  he  thought  of  aow. 
What  would  Tone  say  of  it  ?  Could  he  fancy  himself  so 
loving  her,  engaged  to  her,  bound  to  her — yet  committing 
that  act,  and  bringing  all  that  misery  on  her  innocent 
head  ?  For  see  what  it  meant !  lone  in  London — lond 
walking  do^vn  Victoria  Street  1  A  placard  at  the  crosi- 
ing,  laid  flat  on  the  muddy  ground  I  '  Assassination  oJf 
the  Czar,'  in  great,  flaring  red  letter's  I  She  buys  a 
paper,  tears  it  open,  then  and  there,  all  trembling.  That 
laughter- loving  face  grows  white  as  death ;  those  plump 
hands  quiver  horribly.  '  Owen  Gazalet,  an  attaohi  at 
the  English  Embassy.  Cause  of  crime  unknown.  Sus- 
pected madness.'  She  clutches  the  nearest  railing  with 
one  hand  for  support.  Owen  caught  and  arrested  I  So 
that's  the  end  of  her  cherished  love  dream  t 

And  then,  a  long  trial.  Accomplices,  prmcipals.  Mr. 
Hayward,  of  Bond  Street,  a  Bussian  Nihilist  in  disguisa, 
in  correspondence  with  the  prisoner.  All  the  world  looks 
en  eager.  But  where's  the  glory  of  it  now  ?  Who  carei 
for  martyrdom,  who  oares  for  death,  who  cares  for  duty, 
who  cares  for  Russia  free — if  lond  sits  white  in  tha 
crammed  court,  meanwhile,  waiting  pale  aa  a  corpse  for 
that  inevitable  sentence  ? 

Exe'^ution  I  Triumph  I  And  Ion6  left  miser^oia  and 
heart-broken  behind  I  Oh ,  why  did  he  ever  meet  her  ?  WhT 
did  he  ever  allow  himself  liha^  day  to  be  dragged  into  il  I 


THE  PATH  OF  DUT¥ 


tS3 


Take  hands,  and  part  with  laughter ;  touch  lips,  and 
jpart  with  tears.  They  two  had  touched  lips,  and  this 
would  be  the  upshot. 

Or,  perhaps,  it  might  come  later;  for  Mr.  Haywava 
had  warned  hii  never  to  count  upon  the  chance  as 
certain,  or  to  seize  it  prematurely,  but  to  watch  and  wait 
with  nat  ence,  till  opportunity  brought  occasion  pat 
round  ai  the  one  apt  moment.  He  might  have  got  on 
by  then,  let  ub  suppose,  and  have  married  lone.  But 
how  marry  any  woman  with  such  a  hazard  as  that  ever 
Taguely  in  store  for  her  ?  How  jeopardize  her  happiness 
every  day  of  one's  life  ?  How  trust  her,  even,  to  keep 
the  awful  secret,  and  not  interfere  to  prevent  the  realiza- 
tion of  his  purpose  ? 

Mr.  Hayward  was  right,  after  all.  A  woman's  a 
delusion.  Man  should  keep  his  hands  free  to  do  the 
work  that's  set  before  him.  How  serve  your  country  or 
your  cause  if  you  know  success  must  mean  red  ruin  and 
the  breaking  up  of  home  to  your  wife  and  children,  or 
to  the  girl  who  loves  you  ?  Better  by  far  keep  out  of 
love  altogether.  But  then — he  hadn't  kept  out  of  it. 
lond  had  stormed  his  heart ;  and  even  while  his  head 
told  him  in  very  clear  terms  he  owed  it  to  her  and  the 
Cause  to  break  all  off  at  once,  his  heart  was  beating  hard 
to  the  recurrent  tune  of  '  lond,  lond,  lond,  lond  I' 

She  was  so  bri^rht,  so  lovable,  bo  exactly  what  he 
wanted.  And  Bussia  was  so  far  away,  and  lond  so  near 
him. 

Then  suddenly  the  thought  came  across  him — the 
wicked,  traitorous  thought — did  he  really  want  to  kill 
the  chief  criminal  at  all  ?  Were  it  not  bettei  to  stop  at 
home  at  his  ease,  and  make  love  to  lonS  ? 

Appalled  at  the  ghastly  temptation,  he  sat  up  in  his 
bed,  and  oast  it  from  him  bodily.  He  cast  it  from  him, 
in  the  most  literal  and  physical  sense,  with  his  two 
hands  stretched  out  and  his  face  averted.  He  cast  it  from 
him,  horror-struck,  with  all  the  force  of  his  strong  young 
Arms,  and  all  the  intensity  of  his  inherited  Russian  nature. 
Qet  thee  behind  me,  Satan !  He  rejected  it  and  re- 
pudiated  it  as  a  young  man,  otherwise  trained,  might 
lejeot  And  repudiate  the  most  deadly  Bin.    Tom  his  back 


■'(•■■I 


■3i 


154 


UNDBR  SCALED  ORDERS 


I     I 


upon  the  Cause?  Prove  treacherous  to  his  nurture  ami 
admonition  in  the  faith?  Disappoint  all  the  dearest 
hopes  of  those  who  had  been  kindest  and  best  to  him  ? 
Oh,  Mr.  Hayward  !  Mr.  Hayward  I  Perish  the  thought 
for  ever  1  In  an  agony  of  remorse  and  shame  tbe  poor 
lad  flung  it  away  from  him. 

Yet  it  haunted  him  still,  that  instigation  of  the  devil  1 
!From  all  sides  it  haunted  him.  The  turning-point  of 
youth  had  come — the  critical  age  of  doubt,  of  delibera- 
tion, of  reconstruction,  of  resolution.  Russia. — the  burn- 
ing wrongs  of  that  tortured  country ;  his  father's  blood, 
that  cried  from  the  ground  like  righteous  Abel's  for 
vengeance;  his  mother's  fate,  wandering  mad  through 
the  streets  of  Wilna;  the  crowned  and  terrified  ab- 
straction that  sat  aghast,  clutching  hard,  on  its  tottering 
throne-"-and,  weighed  against  them  in  the  balance,  louo 
— loni — lon^  Dracopoli  I 

O  God  I  for  light,  for  help,  for  guidance  I  The  young 
heart  within  him  throbbed  fierce  with  love.  He  rose  and 
paced  the  room,  and  lighted  his  candle  in  his  agony.  A 
photograph  smiled  down  on  him  from  the  mantelpiece  in 
front — smiled  sunnily  and  innocently.  He  took  it  up 
and  kissed  it  with  hot  feverish  lips.  It  was  Mr.  Hay- 
ward's  portrait  of  lonfi  in  her  Moorish  costume.  Mr. 
Hayward's — of  Ion6  I  There  stood,  as  in  one  magnet, 
tlM  two  opposite  poles  of  his  oscillating  devotion.  lond 
—Mr.  Hayward  ;  Mr.  Hayward — lon6. 

Oh,  Euric  Brassoff,  Buric  Brassofif  I  you  said  truly  that 
day  on  the  Morocco  hills,  '  Love  is  a  great  snare ' ;  and 
wisely,  too,  you  said,  '  Keep  your  head  clear  if  you  can, 
and  let  the  Cause  have  the  heart  of  you.' 

But  now  lond  Dracopoli  had  Owen  Gazalet's  heart, 
and  the  Cause — why,  the  Cause,  as  Owen  would  have 
phrased  it  himself,  though  it  still  had  his  head,  was  just 
nowhere  in  the  running. 

For  it  was  no  longer  Rossia,  that  bleeding,  distracted 
country  that  Owen  balanced  in  the  ftoale  against  lone's 
love ;  it  was  Mr.  Hayward's  aspirations,  A  cause,  after 
ftll,  it  a  very  abstract  entity,  especially  when  you're  only 
jvst  turned  one-and-twentv.  But  a  person  is  a  very 
different  thing ;  and  O^qh  loved  Mr.  Hayward.    No  son 


PALTERING  WITH  SIN  Qi 

-ver  lovecl  and  revered  his  father  aa  Owen  loved  and  revered 
that  earnest,  austere,  single-hearted  NihiUst.  He  admired 
him  with  all  hia  souL  He  couldn't  bear  even  to  harbour 
a  tliought  that  might  displease  him. 

For  Mr.  Hayward's  sake  he  must  go  on  and  persevere. 
He  must  .  .  .  give  up — O  God  I  he  must  give  up 

But  no — not  even  in  word — he  couldn't  give  np 
lor  a 

And  so,  on  the  rock  between  love  and  duty,  as  he 
understood  tliose  two,  Owen  Cazalet  passed  a  night  of 
unearthly  striig;^le.  Every  throb  of  his  pulse,  every  tick 
of  the  clock,  seemed  to  oscillate  in  unison  with  those  con- 
flicting claims :  lone — the  Cause  ;  his  own  heart — Mr. 
Hayward. 

One  or  other  must  go.  "What  poor  stuff  for  a  martyr  t 
He  felt  his  own  great  limbs  in  contemptuous  self-judg- 
inent.  To  think  he  could  be  so  weak,  who  waa  bred  for 
aNi^iliatl 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FALTERING   WITH    BIN. 

Next  morning,  early,  Owen  tubbed  and  dressed,  bathed 
hia  eyes  many  times  to  look  as  fresh  as  possible,  and 
came  down  to  ask  for  breakfast  lialf  an  liour  before  the 
usual  time.  He  was  going  to  run  up  to  tow  a,  he  said. 
He'd  like  to  catch  the  8.60. 

J^unt  Julia  glanced  hard  at  hira,  all  old-maidish  sua- 
jpncicA.  She  was  accustomed  to  these  sudden  shocks,  to 
be  sure ;  and  the  worst  of  it  was,  thougli  she  might 
dimbt  the  reason,  she  could  never  interfere  lest  it  might, 
peradventure,  prove  to  be  one  of  that  dreadful  maa'i 
sealed  orders. 

•  To  see  Mr.  Hayward  ?'  she  asked,  hesitating. 

'  No,'  Owen  answered,  with  a  fervent  prorrrptitudt 
which  av  once  reassured  her  mind  on  that  scora  at  least. 
*JNot  to  ree  Mr.  Hayward.' 

After  ivhioh  he  shut  iiis  mouth  close.  It  was  an 
odioaB  way  the  boy  had.     He  d  picked  it  up,  Aunt  Julia 


n 


if 


l:^  \ 


\     ! 


m 


I 
. 


igf  UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 

tboagbt,  fron  that  dreadful  man  himselt  They  were 
Always  80  close,  both  of  them,  about  their  plani  and 
Iheir  projects. 

*  Where  to,  then  7  Aunt  Julia  ventured  to  inquire  once 
more,  after  a  long  silence. 

And  Owen  answered : 

•  To  Sacha's.' 

'  Oh  t'  Aunt  Julia  replied. 

It  was  the  Oh  argumentative  and  enbinterrogatory,  not 
the  Oh  purely  assentative ;  it  meant,  *  What  to  do,  or 
whom  to  see  f 

But  Owen  took  no  notice  of  it. 

So  after  a  discreet  interval  Aunt  Julia  tried  again. 

'It's  odd  you  should  go  up  to-day,'   she  objected, 

•  when  you  saw  Sacha  yesterday.' 

'Things  have  occurred  since  yesterday,'  Owen  re- 
fponded  dryly. 

This  was  too  much  for  Aunt  Julia.  She  opened  her 
•yes  wide  at  that  oracular  utterance. 

'  How  could  they  ?'  she  exclaimed  in  surprise.  '  No- 
body's come  or  gone.  Why,  even  the  post's  not  in  yet 
this  morning.' 

'Things  may  occur  in  the  night,'  Owen  answered, 
■omewhat  gloomily ;  for  how  could  he  so  much  as  speak 
of  such  high  matters  to  Aunt  Julia  ?  '  The  vision  of  my 
head  on  my  bed,  perhaps.  ...  I  want  to  talk  certain 
points  over,  anyhow,  with  Sacha.' 

'  It  isn't  Sacha  you  want  to  see,  Owen,  I'm  afraid,'  Aunt 
Julia  burst  out  severely,  shaking  one  lifted  forefinger. 

*  It's  that  other  queer  girl — the  one  that  rides  astride  like 
ft  man,  and  frequents  strange  harems.' 

'  But  I  saw  lone,  too,  yesterday,'  Owen  answered, 
■railing  grimly,  for  he  loved  to  mystify  her.  *  I  wonder, 
if  it  comes  to  that,  you  don't  say  Blackbird.' 

Aunt  Julia  drew  back,  almost  shocked. 

'  Well,  I  should  hope  you'd  have  the  good  taste  to  say 
nothing  to  her,'  she  observed  with  dignity.  '  Not  only 
ftre  her  views  extremely  unsound,  but  there's  insanity  in 
Iht  family,  of  that  I'm  certain.' 

'  Insanity  in  the  family  7'  Owen  eoboed.  '  Why,  who 
lold  you  that,  Aunt  Juha*^ 


^ 


PALTERING  WITH  SIN 


»5? 


The  prop  of  orthodoxy  sat  tip  very  stiff  M  ehe  aBfwered« 
with  some  warmth : 

*  I  saw  it  for  myself.    The  girl's  mad :  I'm  sure  of  it  f 

*  How  do  you  mean  ?'  Owen  asked  again. 

*  Why,  you  rememher  one  day  last  year  Sacha  asked 
her  down  here  for  lunch  ? — oh,  no  t  of  course,  you  were 
with  Mr.  Hayward.  Well,  we  went  out  in  the  afternoon, 
and  up  on  the  knoll  till  evening.  As  we  were  sitting  by 
the  summer-house,  and  I  was  talking  to  her  of  her  state, 
there  was  a  very  pretty  sunset,  and  I  saw  to  my  surprise, 
the  girl  was  crying.  "  What's  the  matter,  my  dear  ?  Is 
your  heart  touched  ?"  I  asked  her.  And  she  answered, 
«  Oh  no,  Miss  Gazalet  I  I'm  only  crying  because  the 
sunset's  so  beautiful."  WelL  she  must  be  mad,  yon 
know,  before  she'd  talk  like  that.  And  nobody  has  a 
right  to  fall  in  love  with  a  girl  who  has  insanity  im  the 
family.' 

'People  can't  help  falling  in  love  sometimes/  Owen 
mused,  smiling  again  that  grim  smile.  And  Aunt  Julia 
stared  hard  at  him.  '  Not  that  I'm  going  to  fall  in  love 
with  poor  little  Blackbird,'  he  went  on  quickly,  seeing 
Aunt  Julia's  brow  darkea  '  There's  not  enough  of  her, 
poor  thing  I  for  one  to  fall  in  love  with.  You  may  make 
yourself  perfectly  easy  on  that  score.  I  should  nevtr 
even  think  of  her.' 

And  he  went  on  eating  his  porridge  in  gloomy  silencte. 

The  8.50  train  took  him  straight  up  to  Victoria,  and  ten 
minutes'  walk  landed  him  at  the  flat  off  Victoria  Street, 
lond  opened  the  door  for  him — she  was  the  recognised 
housemaid.  His  heart  came  up  into  his  mouth  at  sight 
of  her ;  but  he  had  made  up  his  mind  beforehand  not  to 
lean  forward  and  kiss  her;  and  he  almost  kept  to  It. 
The  flesh,  however,  is  weak.  lond  smiled  at  him  so 
sweetly,  and  held  her  hand  out  so  frankly,  that  as  he 
took  it  the  blood  leapt  to  his  face  at  the  touch,  and  tiis 
heart  beat  wildly.  Before  he  knew  it,  the  man  within 
him  had  done  what  he  had  sworn  to  avoid.  His  lipt  hiid 
touched  hers,  and  he  drew  back  all  at  once,  abashedi 
ashamed,  and  penitent. 

'Where's  Saoha?'  he  asked,  holding  hii  breath.  *l 
oame  ujp  to  see  hfc.' 


W 


m 


&\ 


»l    ] 


! 


i 


; 


fgl  UNDER  SEALED  OKUISKS 

'Ah,  family  affection/  lond  answered,  with  laughing 
eyes,  yet  flushing  red  with  pleasure.  She  took  the  kiss  as 
her  due,  after  yesterday,  of  course;  but  she  was  well 
pleased,  none  the  less  (as  what  woman  wouldn't  be?) 
that  Owen  couldn't  rest  one  day  without  coming  to  see 
her.  'Sit  down  in  the  drawing-room  here,  Owen,  and 
I'll  run  and  fetch  her.' 

Owen  followed  where  she  led. 

In  the  drawing-room  Blackbird  lounged  lazily,  as  usual, 
in  the  long  wicker  chair,  but  still  paler  and  whiter  than 
her  wont ;  while  her  eyes  looked  very  red,  as  if  from  cry- 
ing or  sleeplessness.  She  rose  as  Owen  entered,  gave  a 
distant  little  bow,  and  left  the  room  precipitately.  But 
the  book  she'd  been  reading  lay  open  on  the  chair. 

Owen  took  it  up  and  glanced  at  it  in  a  vacant  sort  of 
way,  while  lone  was  gone.  He  didn't  observe  it  much, 
or  pay  any  great  attention  to  it.  But  the  book  was 
'  Maud ' ;  and  an  orchid  and  a  laurel-leaf  were  pressed  at 
the  point  where  Blackbird  had  been  reading.  The  verse 
■gainst  which  the  orchid  rested  its  petals  was  thii : 

*  Oh,  may  the  solid  ground 
Not  fail  beneath  my  feet, 
Before  my  life  has  found 
What  some  have  found  so  sweel  f 

Owen  knew  the  lines  well,  and  remembered  the  Bome« 
thing  they  spoke  of  was  love.  But  he  never  troubled  to 
inquire  why  Blackbird  had  been  reading  them.  A  most 
pessimistic  poem,  only  fit  to  give  poor  Blackbird  gloomier 
views  than  ever.  But  young  life  is  self-centred.  The 
verses  brought  back  to  Owen— just  himself  and  lonfi. 

The  orchid,  he  knew,  must  be  one  of  Henley  Stokes*. 
And  as  for  the  laurel-leaves,  why.  Blackbird  was  always 
messing  about,  Sacha  said,  with  laurel-leaves  in  the 
laboratory.  She  wanted  to  extract  poetic  inspiration 
from  them,  perhaps,  for  her  melancholy  music.  At  any 
rate,  she  wa&  always  distilling,  distilling,  distilling  away 
at  them.  It  was  love  and  death.  But  Owen  didn't 
know  it. 

As  he  thought  such  things  vaguely,  Saoha  came  im  to 
him  from  the  studio,  brush  and  palette  m  hand. 


PALTERING  WITH  SOT 


<S9 


•You've  dif^tnrbed  me  from  my  model,  yoa  bad  boy!' 
■he  said,  kissing  him  affectionately.  '  But  never  mind.  I 
can  see  you've  got  something  to  talk  to  me  about.  Come 
into  my  sanctum,  and  I'll  go  on  working  while  I  listen  to 
you.' 

'  But  the  model  V  Owen  objected.  '  It's  very  private. 
She'd  listea' 

*We  can  talk  in  Bussian,'  Sacha  answered  quickly. 

•  And  that'll  be  very  appropriate,  too,  for  the  picture  I'm 
working  at  is  that  sketch  I  spoke  to  you  of— a  sketch 
suggested  by  one  of  Eennan's  stories — "  The  Lost  Girl  in 
Siberia."' 

'  No  1'  Owen  cried  in  surprise.  '  How  curions  I  How 
strange  1  Why,  Sacha,  that's  the  very  sort  of  thing  I 
wanted  to  talk  over  with  you  1' 

'  Not  strange,'   Sacha  answered  in  her  calm  roice. 

•  Not  at  all  strange,  Owen — in  me,  especially.  The 
Bnssian  persists  very  strong  in  us  both.  And  I  was  old 
encugh  to  understand  things,  you  know,  when  poor  dear 
mamma ' 

A  sigh  finished  the  sentence. 

*  The  Russian  persists  very  strong  in  ns  both  V  Owen 
followed  her  into  the  studio.  Yes,  yes ;  Mr.  Hayward 
had  made  it  a  religion  to  him  that  the  Bussian  should 
persist,  and  the  Nihilist,  too.  But  was  it  really  so 
strong  ?    Or  was  it  wearing  out  gradually  ? 

In  temperament,  ay — he  was  Bussian  to  the  core, 
though  with  a  very  strong  dash  of  English  practicality 
and  solidity  as  well ;  yet  all  Bussian  in  his  idealism,  his 
devotion,  his  enthusiasm.  But  as  to  sentiment — well, 
more  doubtful ;  his  English  training  had  made  Him  in 
many  things  what  he  really  was,  and  Mr.  Hayward  alone 
had  encouraged  the  undeveloped  Bussian  tendencies. 

And  now,  since  he  knew  lone,  he  felt  more  English 
than  ever.  He  would  have  liked  to  settle  down  with 
lonS  to  a  quiet  English  life — if  it  were  not  for  the  fear 
of  disappointing  Mr.  Hayward. 

But  to  disappoint  Mr.  Hayward  would  be  no  light 
matte?'.  It  would  be  to  blight  the  hopes  of  a  life,  to 
destioT  at  one  blow  a  whole  vast  fabrio  of  plans  and 
schemes  and  visions. 


' 


ii; 


V. 


m 


. 


I  ■ 


I  II ''oi 


ifc 


VNDBR  SEALED  ORDERS 


He  i?at  down  in  the  studio  ohair. 

Bacba  explained  to  her  model  briefly  that  the  gontl»' 
man  spoke  a  foreign  language,  an(?  ehe  would  work  while 
ebe  talked  to  him. 

Owen  leant  forward  and  began. 

Sacha,  immovable  as  usaal  to  the  outer  eye,  stood  up 
before  her  canvas,  half  facing  him,  half  looking  towards 
the  model.  The  girl,  scantily  clad,  cowered  and  crouched 
to  keep  warm  in  the  imaginary  snow.  Sacha  painted 
on,  as  if  absorbed,  while  Owen  spoke  to  her  in  Bussian. 

*  You  know  what  happened  yesterday  ?'  he  began. 
Sacha  nodded,  and  put  in  a  stroke  at  the  child's 

golden  hair. 

*  I  could  guess  it,'  she  answered  shortly.  *  And,  indeed, 
lone  half  told  me.  That  is  to  say,  when  I  teased  her 
about  it,  she  more  than  half  admitted  it.' 

Then  Owen  explained  the  whole  episode,  in  timid, 
bashful  words,  down  to  the  very  last  touch  about  blowing 
up  the  Czar ;  and  that,  as  in  honour  bound,  he  refrained 
from  telling  her. 

But  Sacha  could  guess  it  all  the  same,  though  she 
went  on  painting  as  if  for  dear  life.  She  knew  mors 
than  she  paid.     Not  mach  escaped  Sachdb 

When  he'd  finished  she  looked  up. 

'  Well  ?'  she  murmured  calmly. 

*  I've  had  a  sleepless  night,'  Owen  answered,  stretehing 
out  his  big  arms  and  legs  in  an  expressive  fashion. 

*  Thinking  of  lone  ?'  Sacha  put  in,  though  she  knew  it 
wasn't  that. 

No  ;  thinking  of  Mr.  Hay  ward.' 

For  the  first  time  the  brush  faltered  in  Saoha's  steady 
hand,  and  her  breath  came  and  went. 

'  He  wouldn't  like  it,  you  think  ?'  she  said  quickly. 
*  It  would  interfere  .  .  .  with  his  plans  for  your  future  ?' 

*  Oh,  Sacha,  you  know  it  would  1' 

Sacha  fiddled  away  at  the  golden  hair  still  mora 
Tigorously  than  ever. 

'  I've  never  been  told  so/  she  answered,  after  a  short 
silent  interval. 

'  But  you  guess  a  great  deal,  I'm  Bxa%»* 

*  Yes — ^perhaps  incorreotlj^.' 


PALTERING  WITH  SIN 


I6z 


Owen  felt  thij  was  painfal. 

*  Well,  anyhow/  he  said,  flonndering,  *  yon  can  nnder- 
■tand  this  much,  if  I  married  lonS,  or  even  got  engaged 
to  her  .  .  .  well,  it  would  hamper  me  very  much  in  the 
work  he  intends  me  for.' 

'  For  the  diplomatic  service,  in  short/  Sacha  pat  in 
diplomatically. 

Owen  eyed  her  with  a  start. 

No  word  of  the  real  truth  ever  passed  between  those 
two;  yet,  even  without  speaking,  they  understood  one 
Another. 

'  Yes,'  he  answered  very  slowly,  *  in ...  the  diplomatic 
lervica' 

'  On  the  ground  that  if  .  .  .  anything  .  .  .  ever  hap- 
pened   to    you '   Sacha    suggested,   her   hand  now 

trembling  so  much  that  she  hardly  even  pretended  to 
paint  at  her  picture. 

'  Precisely.  The  diplomatic  service,  we  know,  is  very 
exacting.  One  takes  one's  life  in  one's  hand.  And  u 
anything  .  .  .  ever  happened  to  me,  what  would  one  say 
to  long?' 

Sacha's  breath  came  and  went.  But  sha  still  pretended 
to  paint. 

*  Owen,'  she  said  slowly,  touching  each  hair  with  a  dry 
brush,  and  looking  mechanically  at  the  child, '  I've  often 
thought  of  all  that.  And  ever  since  I've  seen  how  much 
XonS  and  you  were  taken  with  one  another — why,  I've 
thought  of  nothing  else.  It's  given  me,  too,  a  sleepless 
Bight.     It  would  be  terrible — terrible/ 

'  Then,  you  guess  all  ?*  Owen  asked. 
Bacha  bowed  her  wise  head. 

'  Yes,  all,  I  think.    Everything.    And  il  hag  teonblsd 
me  much — even  for  your  sake,  Owen.* 
<  How  do  you  mean  ?'  he  asked  once  more. 
6he  looked  across  at  him  tenderly. 

*  It's  hard  to  give  up  one's  brother,'  she  said,  faltering, 
*even  for  a  great  and  a  holy  and  a  righteous  cause, 
Owen/ 

'  I  suppose  so,'  Owen  answered.  *  Though,  till  aow,  I 
aever  thought  of  it.  And  even  now,  it's  never  of  myself 
I  think,  of  conrsc    Tm  too  much  of  a  Bussian  for  that,  I 

11 


i*'! 


Tn 


.  ^i 


u 


Hi 


1 


I«i 


UNDHR  SBALED  ORDEO 


hope.  It's  of  lend,  on  the  one  hand — and  on  the  other, 
of  Mi.  Hayward. 

'  It  would  kill  him,'  Sacha  said,  clenching  her  hand  m 
she  spoke. 

'  If  I  refused  '  i — to  go  into  the  diplomatic  service  T 
Owen  corrected  i  .mself  quickly.  '  But  I'd  never  dream 
of  that,  Sacha.     It  would  be  wicked,  unnatural.' 

'  I'm  not  BO  sure  as  to  its  wickedness,'  Sacha  repliedi 
very  white. 

*  Why,  Sacha,  you  know  I  owe  him  everything.' 
Sacha  touched  a  hair  or  two  with  real  paint. 

'  If  I  were  you,'  she  said  with  decision,  '  I'd  talk  it  all 
over  with  the  person  most  concerned.' 
'  Who  ?    Mr.  Hayward  ?' 

'  Mr.  Hayward  I     No,  no,  my  d<3ar  boy — lond,  Ion!  P 
Owen  drew  back,  all  alarmed. 

*  But — I'd  have  to  tell  her  everything,*  nd  ■aid. 
'  She  knows  everything  already.' 

*  How  can  you  tell  ?' 

'  I  feel  sure  of  it.  And  she  said  m  to  yo^  yesterday.  I 
could  see  it  in  her  face.  Talk  it  over  with  her  first, 
and  then  go  and  have  it  out  with  Mr.  Hayward  after- 
wards.' 

Owen  hesitated.  In  the  night  he  had  said  to  himself 
a  thousand  times  he  must  never,  never,  never  see  loni 
again.  And  now,  at  the  first  shot,  he  was  abandoning  th« 
citadel. 

*  Where  is  she  ?'  he  asked,  faltering.  Albs  tax  the  staff 
a  Nihilist  should  be  made  of  1 

'  In  the  kitchen,  no  doubt,'  Bacha  aikewered.  '  Gk>  out 
there  and  call  her.' 

And  Owen,  all  on  fire,  feeling  a  consciousness  of  wild 
guilt,  yet  a  burning  delight  that  he  might  speak  to  lonl^ 
went  out  and  called  hdb 


AN  AWFUI<  SUGGESTION 


^ 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


AN  AWFUL   SUa3ESTI0N. 

loNfe  in  her  kitchen  costume,  was  leaning  ovar  the  fire, 

preparing  the  soup  for  kinch,  as  Owen  entered.  She 
looked  up  at  him  by  the  doorway  with  ttose  merry, 
laughing  eyes  of  hers. 

'  Do  you  know,'  she  said,  pointing  her  remark  with  an 
impatient  wave  of  her  iron  spoon,  *  this  picnicking  sort  of 
life's  all  very  well  for  the  East,  or  anywhere  else  you 
choose  to  try  it  out  of  England  ;  but  now  the  novelty's 
begun  to  wear  off  a  bit,  I'm  getting  to  believe  it  doesn't 
go  down  in  London.  Even  with  Our  Boys  to  holp  us,  I 
really  feel  before  long — it's  a  confession  of  failure,  I  know 
— but — we  must  engage  a  kitchenmaid.' 

'  You  think  so,'  Owen  answered,  without  paying  much 
heed  to  her  words.  '  That  seems  rather  like  rounding 
upon  one's  principles,  doesn't  it  ?  Putting  your  hand  to 
the  plough,  and  then  looking  back  again.' 

long  tasted  the  soup  from  her  big  spoon  with  a  very 
critical  air,  and  pouted  her  lips  prettily. 

'  Well,  there's  a  deal  of  backsliding  about  us  all,  I 
fancy,'  she  said  with  e&sy  insouciance,  pulling  her  kitchen 
apron  straight — and  how  dainty  she  looked  in  it  1  '  You 
can't  live  up  to  anything  worth  calling  principles  in  the 
world  as  it  stands ;  the  world's  too  strong  for  you. 
Individualism's  all  very  well  in  its  way,  of  course ;  but 
society  won't  swallow  it.  It  isn't  organized  that  way, 
and  we  must  give  in  to  the  organization.* 

'  You  mean  it  seriously  ?'  Owen  asked,  now  much 
interested  by  the  curious  way  her  observations  came  pat 
with  his  own  thoughts.  '  You  begin  to  believe  in  back- 
Rhding  V 

lonS  took  down  a  dredging-box  from  the  dresser  hard 
by,  and  proceeded  to  flour  the  loin  of  lamb  on  the  table 
beside  her. 

'  Well,  partly  I  do,  perhaps,'  she  said.  ♦  And  partly 
I'm  still  of  the  same  old  opinion.  You  see,  the  point's 
this:    You  oan't   dissever  yourself  altogether  from  the 


■"'! 
i 


1 


''  hi 


iii+'l 


jh 


UNDAB.  8BALBD  ORDERS 


■ocial  environment,  as  Blackbird  calls  it ;  you've  get, 
whether  you  like  it  or  not,  to  live  your  life  in  your  owb 
century.  It's  dull,  but  it's  inevitaule.  Now,  when  we 
first  came  bpr^,  Sacha  and  I'd  got  tired  of  the  pro* 
vincialiB'iu  of  living  always  in  the  nineteenth  century, 
and  ve  tried  all  by  ourselves  to  inaugurate  the  twentieth 
or  the  twenty-first,  or  something.  But  somehow  it 
doesn't  seem  quite  to  answer.  The  rest  of  the  world  still 
sticks  to  its  own  age  most  provokingly  in  spite  of  us 
So  there  comes  the  difficulty.  Of  course,  if  everybody 
else  did  exactly  as  we  do,  there'd  be  nothing  odd  in  my 
running  to  open  the  door  with  my  sleeves  tucked  up  and 
my  fingers  all  floury,  or  in  Blackbird's  being  discovered 
with  a  dustpan  in  her  hand,  down  on  her  knees  on  the 
floor  sweeping  the  drawing-room  carpet.  But  the  bother 
of  it  all  is,  as  things  stand  at  present,  we've  got  to  run 
both  concerns  side  by  side,  as  it  were — we've  got  to  be 
servants  at  home  and  ladies  in  society.' 

'  It's  a  tax,  no  doubt,*  Owen  answered,  putting  off  an 
evil  hour.  '  You'd  like  to  be  free  thiu  morning.  Can't  I 
help  you  at  all,  lone  ?' 

lonS  looked  up  at  him  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  her 
eyes. 

'  Not  in  that  nice  black  cutaway  coat,'  she  replied, 
holding  out  her  floury  hands  towards  him  and  pretending 
to  make  clutches  at  his  impeccable  sleeves,  '  unless  you 
want  the  evidences  of  your  guilt  to  be  patent  to  every 
observer.  They'll  say,  if  you  do,  you've  been  flirting 
with  the  scullerymaid.'  And  she  made  just  a  tiny  dao 
of  flour  on  his  cuff  by  way  of  solemn  warning.  •  You 
see,  there  it  is  again,'  she  went  on,  bustling  about  the 
kitchen  as  she  spoke,  with  Owen's  admiring  glance 
following  her  round  at  every  turn  as  an  iron  filing  follows 
a  powerful  magnet.  '  That's  the  crux  of  the  situation. 
You  can't  help  in  a  kitchen  and  yet  wear  the  ordinary 
black  clothes  of  London  respectabihty.  Even  Out  Boys, 
whose  frock-coats  are  the  mirror  of  fashion  of  an  after- 
noon in  the  Park,  put  on  long  hoUand  smocks  in  the 
early  morning  when  they  come  to  crack  the  coals  and 
light  the  kitchen  fire  for  us.' 

*I   suppose    you're  right,'  Owen  assented,  sighing. 


AN  AWFT7L  STGGISSTIOIT  ill 

*It'8  harfl  to  have  to  live  by  two  standarii  at  <am{ 
hard  to  move  in  one  world,  and  belong  by  natora  and 
sentiment  and  opinion  to  another.' 

'That's  just  what  you're  trying  to  do,'  loni  tried 
abruptly,  pouncing  upon  him  with  a  lauoepan. 

Owen  paused  and  reflected. 

*  I  suppose  it  is,'  he  said  pensively. 

lond  went  on  washing  out  the  enamelled  insida  wUk 
vigorous  dabs  and  scourings. 

*  Why,  of  course  it  is,'  she  continued  with  much  spirik 
'  You,  even  more  than  most  of  us.  Almost  everybody 
worth  speaking  of  nowadays  lives  in  one  age  and  feeui 
with  another,  some  of  us  in  front  of  our  own,  and  some 
of  us  behind  It.  But  you  try  to  do  more  than  that. 
You  want  to  drive  four  systems  abreast.  For  you'd  like 
to  live  in  two  ages  and  belong  to  two  countries — England 
and  Russia,  our  century  and  the  next ;  that's  the  loof 
and  the  short  of  it.' 

*  I  never  told  yon  so,'  Owen  cried,  turning  pale.  He 
loved  to  take  refuge  in  that  saving  clause.  At  least,  II 
could  never  be  said  he'd  betrayed  Mr.  Hayward. 

*  If  women  only  found  out  what  they're  told,  my  deaf 
boy,  they  wouldn't  know  much,'  lonfi  responded  cheer- 
fully, giving  another  twirl  to  the  cloth  inside  the  shining 
saucepan.  'But,  seriously,  you  can't  go  on  living  this 
double  life  for  always.  It's  not  human  nature.  I  lay  awake 
a  good  bit  last  night,  Owen ' — her  voice  grew  graver  and 
softer — '  and  I  thought  a  great  deal  about  it.' 

Owen's  heart  leapt  up  once  more  at  those  words.  Im 
spite  of  the  flour  and  the  saucepan  he  seized  lond's  hand 
hard. 

'  You  lay  awake  in  the  night  and  thought  about  me, 
darling  ?'  he  cried,  overjoyed.  *  Yon  really  lay  awai'd 
and  thought  about  me  ?' 

lone  nodded  and  smiled. 

*  Why,  of  course  I  thought  about  you,  you  goose  V  she 
answered.  *  What  do  you  think  girls  are  made  of  ? 
Do  you  suppose,  after  what  happened  yesterday,  I  was 
hkely  to  fall  asleep  the  very  first  moment  I  laid  my  bead 
on  my  pillow  ?' 

She  looked  at  him  so  bewitchingly,  with  those  sofl^ 


if'!-''' 


m 


m : 


!i 


1: 

i 

; 

.1 

i 

1 

hi , 

n 

im 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


roUi«J  cheeks  so  shamefacedly  red  in  modest  BurpriB©  at 
their  own  unwonted  boldr.  .ss^  that  Owen  couldn't  help 
leaning  tDrw^ird  and — just  kissing  her  as  she  Fitood  there. 
It  was  a  bad  beginning  for  a  philosophical  debate  on  thft 
ethics  of  Nihilism.  lonS  took  the  kiss  sedately,  aa 
though  it  were  but  her  due  ;  yet  she  motioned  him  away 
with  her  hwnd  all  the  same,  as  who  should  observe, 
'  That  was  «.tl  very  nice  in  its  way,  no  doubt,  but  no 
more  of  the  same  nort  at  present,  thank  you.'  Then  she 
turned  to  him  suddenly,  in  a  tumult  of  emotion,  and 
nestled  her  flutfy  head  on  his  shoulder  for  very  shame. 

'  Oh,  Owen  darling,'  she  cried  with  a  burst,  '  think 
about  you?  tnlnk  about  you?  Why,  I  lay  awake  all 
night  long  and  thought  of  nothing  else  but  you — you, 
you,  you — till  St  was  Jight  again  this  morning.' 

Owen  ran  his  fingers  tenderly  through  that  crisp  loose 
hair  of  hers.  Russia — the  Cause  I  what  were  they  to 
him  now  ?  Oh,  Nature,  Nature,  why  did  you  ever  make 
woMen  ?  These  temptations  shouldn't  be  put  upon  our 
frail  masculine  hearts.  He  hadn't  even  the  courage  to 
answer  outright  that  he,  too,  for  his  part,  had  lain  awake 
all  night  and  thought  of  her — and  Mr.  Hayward.  He 
could  only  press  her  sweet  face  with  one  caressing  hand 
into  the  hollow  of  his  shoulder,  while  with  the  other  he 
ran  his  fingers  through  those  silky  chestnut  locks  of  hers. 
He  was  enslaved  by  the  tangles  of  Nesera's  hair.  And 
tie  murmured  under  his  breath,  *  lone,  I  love  you.' 

For  a  minute  or  two  they  stood  there — Owen,  tall, 
strong,  and  erect ;  lonS  nestling  against  him  in  her 
womanly  self-abandonment.  Then,  suddenly,  she  c.  me 
to  herself  again,  and  moved  away  from  him,  all  remoi  6 
and  penitence  for  too  open  an  avowal.  She  ran  acrosa 
Ihe  kitchen  floor,  blushing  hot  in  the  face  as  she  went. 

*  Oh,  Owen,'  she  cried,  '  what'U  you  think  of  me  ? 
But  I  couldn't  help  it — I  love  you  so.  .  .  .  And  I  know 
what  it  was  you  lay  awake  and  thought  about.' 

'  "What,  darling  ?'  Owen  askod,  following  her  up  in- 
stinctively, and  seizing  her  hand  once  more,  as  she  turned 
lier  tingling  face  away  from  him. 

*  Why,  you  thought,'  lono  answered,  pretending  to  be 
deeply  interested  in  the  saiicopan  once  more,  though  her 


AN  AWFUL  SUGGESTION 


1*7 


SQfvering   bands    belied    their   ostensible    task— •  yon 
bought — you'd  done  wrong  in  ever  speaking  at  all  to 
me.' 

Owen  gazed  hard  at  her  and  winced. 
<  It's  desecration  to  say  so,  lone,  he  cried,  taken  aback 
at  her  insight.     '  But — I  did.     I  admit  it  I' 

*  I  know  you  did,'  lone  went  on.  '  I  saw  it  in  your 
eyes  when  I  opened  the  door  to  you  as  you  came  this 
morning.  You  thought  that  horrid  Russian  man  woi'ld 
be  angry  if  he  knew,  and  that  you  ought  to  have  foUov.  ed 
his  wishes,  and  never  fallen  in  love  with  me.' 

Owen  drew  a  deep  sigh. 

*  Not  angry,  lone,'  he  answered.  '  If  that  were  all,  I 
think  I  could  stand  it  more  easily.  But  grieved,  crushed, 
heart-broken — oh,  I  can't  tell  you  how  utterly  and  in- 
expressibly disappointed  I' 

'  Only  because  you  were  in  love  with  me,  Owen/  lon^ 
laid,  a  bit  reproachfully. 

'  Ah,  you  can't  understand,'  Owen  burst  out,  half  de- 
gpairing.  '  And  I  can't  even  explain  to  you.  I've  no 
right.  It'd  be  wicked  of  me — most  wicked  and  un- 
grateful. You  can't  think  how  much  it  means  to  Mr. 
Hayward,  my  darling ;  you  can't  think  how  much  it 
means  to  him — ail  his  life-work  almost.  For  twenty 
years  he's  lived  for  little  else  but  the  plan,  which — well, 
which  my  loving  you  would  upset  altogether.  And  I 
daren't  upset  it.  I  can't  upset  it.  .  .  .  lone,  you  won't 
understand  it,  but  I  owe  him  so  much  I  He's  brought 
me  up,  and  sent  me  to  school,  and  supplied  all  my 
wants,  and  been  more  than  a  father  to  me.  How 
can  I  turn  upon  him  now,  and  say,  "  I  love  a  woman, 
and  for  her  sake  I  can't  fulfil  my  engagements  with 
you  "  ?' 

'And  you  mean  to  fulfil  them?'  lonfi  asked,  growing 
suddenly  grave  and  pale,  for  she  realized  now  to  the  full 
what  those  tbirible  words  meant.  *  You  mean — to  blow 
up  the  Czar,  and  be  shot,  or  hanged,  or  tortured  to  death 
for  it? 

Owen  paused  and  re/^ooted. 

*  I  mean  to  fulfil  whatever  engagements  I've  made  with 
lUr.  Hayward,'  he  answered  slowly  and  ruefully,     '  And 


is 


!    ? 


rl 


!    • 


VNDBK  aSAUtD  O&DBES 


ir     'i 


'iii.il 


1 1 


'I.A  .     i! 


IK    1 


^j*; 


tiiwefore  Pfs  done  wrong  in  permitting  myself  vnat  It 
love  yon.* 

lond  let  herself  drop  on  a  wooden  kitchen  chair,  and 
laid  her  head  in  her  arms  on  the  rough  deal  table. 
For  a  moment  she  had  given  way,  and  was  crying 
silently. 

Owen  let  her  go  on,  jnst  soothing  her  head  with  his 
hand  for  some  minutes  without  speaking. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  she  looked  up  and  begaa  again 
quite  calmly.  The  womanish  fit  was  over.  Her  tears 
had  quieted  her. 

'  You're  going  quite  wrong,'  she  said,  with  a  firmness 
and  common-sense  beyond  her  yeara  '  You're  letting  a 
false  sentiment  of  consistency  lead  you  utterly  astray. 
You're  sacrificing  your  life  and  mins  to  a  mistflJken  idea 
of  honour  and  gratitude.' 

'  If  only  you  knew  Mr.  Hayward,  lond  I'  OweA  pat  Ia 
with  a  deprecating  gesture. 

'  If  only  I  knew  Mr.  Hayward,  I  should  say  exactly 
what  I  say  this  minute,'  lone  answered  fervently.  *  Look 
here  at  it,  Owen.  This  is  just  how  things  stand.  You're 
an  Englishman  born  as  much  as  anybody.  Yon  had  a 
Bussian  father — well,  I  had  a  Greek  ona  It  pleases  us 
both  to  pretend  we're  Bussian  and  Greek ;  and  so,  no 
doubt,  in  inherited  tendencies  and  dispositions  we  are ; 
but  for  all  practical  purposes  we're  pure  English,  for  all 
that.  You're  just  a  taU,  well-made,  handsome,  athletic 
young  Englishman.  You  care  a  great  deal  more  in  your 
heart  of  hearts  about  a  two-mile  race  than  about  the 
wrongs  of  Bussia — though  even  to  yourself,  of  oour«9, 
vou  wouldn't  like  to  acknowledge  it.  That  dreadful 
Nihilist  man — I  admit  he's  very  clever,  very  dignified, 
very  grave,  very  earnest,  and  he  knows  your  character 
thoroughly— but  that  dreadful  Nihilist  man  has  got  hold 
of  you,  and  talked  you  over  to  his  ideas,  and  stuffed  your 
inllammable  Bussian  head — for  your  head  at  least  is 
Bussian — chock-full  of  his  bombs  and  his  dynamite  and 
bis  enthusiasms,  till,  not  even  your  wholesome  English 
legs  and  arms  will  carry  you  away  out  of  reach  of  him 
intellectually.  But  you  know  very  well  it's  all  a  facti- 
tious feeling  with  you.   .   .   ,   Mr.   Hayward's  at  the 


AN  AWFUl  SUGGESTION 


bottom  of  it.  If  Mr.  Hayward  were  to  die  to-morrow 
you'd  never     d.nt  to  do  anything  at  all  for  Bussia.' 

'  I  hope  I  would  !'  Owen  cried  devoutly. 

Foe  was  it  not  his  religion  ? 

'  But  80  much,  do  you  think  T  lond  asked  with  a  quick 
thrust,  following  up  her  advantage. 

Owen  hesitated. 

*  "Well  .  .  .  not  quiti  so  much,  perhaps/  he  faltered 
out  after  a  moment's  reflection. 

'  No,  of  course  not  I'  lonfi  continued,  in  a  tone  of  femi- 
nine triumph.  She  was  woman  all  over,  which  is  another 
way  of  laying  her  transitions  of  emotion  were  intensely 
rapid.  *  Would  you  blow  up  tLe  Czar,  for  example, 
all  on  your  own  account?  Would  you  lay  a  plot  to 
explode  him?  I,  for  one,  don't  for  a  moment  believe 
it.' 

'Probably  not,'  Owen  admitted,  after  another  ihort 

Eause  of  internal  struggle.  Somehow,  lonS  compelled 
im  to  tell  the  truth,  and  to  search  out  his  inmost  and 
mofft  personal  feelings  in  matl^srs  which  he  himself  had 
long  given  over  to  Mr.  Hayward's  supreme  direction. 

•  No,  I  knew  you  wouldn't  I'  lone  echoed,  looking  ac^osg 
at  him  and  drying  her  tears.  '  It's  only  your  father  con- 
fessor that  drives  you  to  these  extremities.  You've  given 
him  jvvur  conscience  to  keep,  and  you  never  so  much  as 
take  it  out  to  have  a  look  at  il  yoursell  But  you're  a 
man,  Owen,  now,  and  your  manhood  oompels  you  to  re- 
oonstruot  your  faith.  The  question  is,  Do  you  or  do  yoa 
not  believe  in  this  movement  so  much  that  you're  pre- 
pared to  sacrifice  your  own  life  and  strength — and  tm 
into  the  bargain — to  Mr.  Hayward's  schemes  and  Mr. 
Hayward's  principles?' 

She  spoke  it  out  plainly.  Owen  could  not  choose  but 
listen.  It  was  treason,  he  knew — high  treason  to  the 
Cause,  aad  yet,  after  all,  very  rational  treason.  There 
was  plain  oommon-sense  in  every  word  lone  said.  Why 
accept  offhand  Mr.  Hr.yward's  system  of  things  as  an  in- 
fallible guide  to  moral  conduct  in  a  world  where  so  nuiny 
eonflicting  opinions  bear  away  alternately?  Was  Mr. 
Hayward  the  Pope  ?  Was  Bond  Street  a  new  Vatican  ? 
But  Mr.  Haywara'a  money  ?    And  Mr.  TIayward's  kind- 


ii 


m 


i- 


!(;■.; 


m 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


ness !  Must  he  be  ungrateful  and  base,  and  betray  hii 
gieat  benefactor,  all  for  the  sake  of  that  prime  stumbling- 
block  of  our  kind,  a  woman  ? 


\i 

1  i 

1    r.                           ! 

1 

Sri  . 

ffl:      i 

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■'  \    ii! 


•^ 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

VBB     OBISIS     COMES. 

When  you're  in  doubt  whether  you  ought,  as  a  matter  of 
conscience,  to  marry  a  particular  woman  or  not,  I've 
always  observed  it's  a  dangerous  practice,  from  the  point 
of  view  of  impartial  decision,  to  take  the  doubt  to  that 
woman  herself  for  solution.  For  either  she  cordially 
agrees  with  you,  and,  after  many  tears,  endorses  your 
scruples,  in  which  case,  of  course,  chivalry,  pity,  and  a 
certain  mascuhne  piqiie  compel  you  to  fling  your  arms 
round  her  in  a  passion  of  remorse,  and  swear  in  spite  of 
everything  she  must  and  shall  be  yours — and  hang  con- 
science ;  or  else  she  differs  from  you  and  dispels  your 
flimsy  doubts,  in  which  case,  naturally,  there's  nothing 
on  earth  left  for  a  man  to  do  but  agree  with  her  and 
marry  her.  So  that,  let  things  turn  as  they  will,  your 
woman  wins  either  way. 

Now,  this  was  precisely  the  dilemma  for  which  poor 
guileless  Owen  had  let  himself  in.  All  that  autumn 
through,  of  course,  he  continued  to  argue  with  himself 
that  'twould  be  a  grievous  wrong  in  him  to  disappoint 
Mr.  Hay  ward.  Yet  the  more  he  argued  it,  the  more 
possible  such  backsliding  seemed  t^  ^row  with  each  day. 
Depend  upon  it,  there's  nothin:;  for  wai',!  uning  the  hold 
of  virtue  on  the  mind  like  tua  ij(  i.'oaDL  cloi,v  vmination 
that,  in  spite  of  everythinc:,  you  a^il'.  be  .utv-ovs.  The 
oftener  you  declare  to  yourself  yoi'.  i^l  ; over,  never  do 
■o-and-80,  the  more  natural  and  thinUf.bJ^i  does  the  so- 
and-so  become  to  you.  And  thus  it  wnf*  with  Owen 
Cazalei  By  Christmas  time,  indeed,  he  nad  b.U  but 
made  up  his  mind  that  sooner  or  later  he  might  have  to 
tell  Mr.  ilayward  his  faith  Id  the  Cause  was  growing 
distinctly  feebler. 

Ai  (or  loud,  she  aided  him  greatly  whenever  he  saw 


i.   i 


THE  CRISIS  COMES. 


171 


hor,  in  tlils  tcrriblo  resolve — for  to  him  it  was  torrible. 
Sho  luivor  uiisscd  an  opportunity  of  pointing  out  to  him 
over  iuiil  ovur  iiguin  tliat  his  zeal  for  IJnssia  was,  after 
all,  entirely  artitioial — a  delicate  exotic,  reared  and 
nursed  with  difficulty  on  rough  English  soil,  and  ready  to 
^ado  at  tlio  first  chilly  frost  of  cur  damp  Western  winter. 

*  You'd  never  have  arrived  at  those  ideas  at  all,  all  of 
yourself,  you  know,'  she  said  to  hiri  more  than  once. 
'They're  nothing  hut  mere  reflections  of  Mr,  Hayward's 
enthusiasm.  It's  natural  enough  in //iw«,  no  doubt;  he's 
a  Kussian  to  the  core — to  the  manner  born — and  he'a 
seen  how  the  thing  works  in  actual  practice.  Perhaps 
he's  been  proscribed,  hunted  down,  ruined,  exiled  to 
Siberia.  Ho  may  have  run  away  from  the  mines,  or 
escaped  from  prison.  I  don't  owo  him  any  grudge  for 
wanting  to  blow  up  the  Czar — I  dare  say  the  Czar 
deserves  it — if  ho  thinks  that's  the  best  way  of  clearing 
the  board  for  a  fresh  deal,  and  especially  if,  as  you  say, 
he  wants  to  blow  him  up  out  of  pure  brotherly  love  and 
affection  for  the  down-trodden  peasantry.  I  sympathize 
with  all  that  very  much,  in  a  non-compromising  sort  of 
way,  and  at  a  safo  distance.  But  that  ho  should  want 
to  drag  ?/o;nn to  it — you,  our  own  dear  old  Owen — that's 
quite  another  r.iatter.  You're  as  Englisli  as  I  am,  you 
know,  and,  if  it  comos  to  that,  a  great  deal  Englisher. 
And  you're  ai  thousand  tinu'S  more  interested  in  the 
cluimpion  sculls  than  in  the  wrongs  of  the  Slav  and  the 
abouHEiations  uf  tlio  Third  Section.  You'll  never  allow" 
5t,  of  (!()urso,  but  it's  a  fact  for  all  tliat.  The  enthu- 
siasm's pumped  up;  the  athletics  are  genuine.' 

Much,  dropping  of  water  will  wear  away  a  stone.  lond 
was  r(!ally,  in  her  hetirt  of  hearts,  far  too  deeply  in  love 
with  Owen,  and  far  too  terrified  for  hiw  future,  not  to 
push  her  advantage  Jiard  every  time  slio  nu.)t  him.  Some- 
times she  was  sad,  too,  and  let  him  see  the  reason  why. 
How  could  any  girl  help  being  sad,  she  asked,  no  matter 
how  joyous  or  vivacious  her  nature,  when  the  being  she 
loved  best  on  earth  was  goiug  straight  his  own  headlong 
iray  to  a  murderer':?  gi'ave  or  to  tite  mines  of  the  UralV 

Owoaatrongly  demurred  to  that  ugly  word*jnurdyror'; 


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fee  sftld  it  was  a  question-be^'^ing  epitfiet,  inapp^icf  »>T^  to 
the  minister  of  a  political  sentence  against  a  notorious 
criminal.  But  lon^,  having  once  discovered  by  actddent 
how  hard  it  hit  him,  stuck  to  her  phrase  womanfuUy  to 
the  bitter  end,  and  made  it  do  good  duty  as  a  mental 
lever  in  her  deliberate  operations  against  Owen's  totter- 
ing conscience — f'r  conscience  it  was,  though  not  of  the 
common  stamp.  There  be  creeds  and  creeds,  and  each 
creed  begets  its  own  appropriate  moral  sentiments. 

Is  it  murder  to  shoot  a  Czar  ?  Or  should  we  rather 
deem  it  a  noble  act  of  self-sacrifice  for  humanity's  sake  ? 
God  knows :  I  don't ;  and  with  the  fear  of  the  Lord 
Chief  Justice  for  ever  before  my  eyes,  I  refuse  to  discuss 
the  question — at  least  in  public.  These  matters,  I  hold, 
are  best  debated  in  camera.  I  may  even  venture  to  say, 
in  camera  obscura.  Poor  Herr  Most  got  twelve  months 
for  deciding  the  abstract  point  at  issue  in  the  second  of 
the  two  senses  above  considered.  Twelve  months  in 
gaol,  my  medical  authority  assures  me,  would  be  bad  for 
one's  hea''  ii ;  and  it  would  deprive  one  of  the  society  of 
one's  frienas  and  family. 

But  to  Owen,  less  well  brought  up,  the  struggle  was  a 
painful  one.  He  had  been  taught  to  regard  Mr.  Hay- 
ward's  opinion  as  the  ultimate  court  of  appeal  in  all 
questions  of  ethics.  No  Jesuit  was  ever  more  successful 
in  the  training  of  neophytes  than  Burio  Brassoff  had 
been  with  Owen  Cazalet's  conscience.  Whether  it  be 
right  or  wrong  to  kill  one  man  for  the  good  of  the  people, 
Owen  at  least  was  quite  as  firmly  convinced  by  his  whole 
early  training  it  was  hiti  bounden  duty  to  shoot  a  Czar, 
wherever  found,  as  he  was  firmly  convinced  it  was  wholly 
and  utterly  indefensible  to  shoot  a  grouse  or  a  pheasant. 
He  had  been  instructed  by  those  whom  he  most  r'^vered 
and  respected  that  to  take  life  in  sport,  be  it  man's  or 
beast's  or  bird's,  be  it  Zulu's  or  Turcoman's,  is  a  deadly 
sin  ;  but  that  to  take  life  for  tlio  protection  of  life  and 
liberty,  be  it  a  scorpion's  or  a  wolf's,  be  it  a  Czar's  or  a 
tiger's  is  a  plain  and  indubitable  moral  duty.  No 
wonder,  then,  ho  clung  hard  to  this  original  teaching, 
which  supported  for  his  soul  the  whole  superimposed 
labrio  of  ingrained  mor'ality. 


h 


THB  CRISIS  COMES 


tn 


By  Christmas,  however,  as  I  said  before,  his  mood  nad 
begun  to  weaken.  He  wasn't  quite  as  firm  in  the 
Niiiilist  faith  as  formerly.  Still  believing  without  doubt 
in  the  abstract  principle  that  Czars  should  be  shot  down^ 
on  every  possible  occasion,  like  noxious  reptiles,  he  was 
a  trifle  less  clear  in  his  own  mind  than  of  old  that  he  was 
the  particular  person  specially  called  upon  by  nature  and 
humanity  to  do  it.  A  rattlesnake  should  be  killed,  no 
doubt,  by  whoso  comes  across  him — say  in  South  Caro- 
lina ;  but  are  you  therefore  bouud  to  take  siiip  to 
Charleston  on  purpose  to  find  him  ?  Must  you  go  out  of 
your  way,  so  to  speak,  to  look  for  your  rattlesnakes  ? 

Yes,  if  you've  been  paid  for  it,  brought  up  for  it,  trained 
for  it.  Yes,  if  the  path  of  duty  Ues  clear  that  way.  Yea, 
if  you've  engaged  yourself  by  solemn  contract  to  do  it. 

'But  you  were  a  minor  at  the  time,'  objects  lonS; 
'  you  didn't  know  your  own  mind.  Now  you've  come  to 
man's  estate,  you  think  it  over  at  your  leisure,  and  repu- 
diate the  obligation.' 

Ah,  yes ;  but  how  return,  not  the  money  alone,  but  the 
pains,  the  care,  the  loving  interest?  That  was  what 
bothered  Owen  now.  The  black  ingratitude,  the  cruelty  I 
Above  all,  how  break  his  change  of  mind  to  Mr.  Hay- 
ward  ? 

From  that  ordeal  he  shrank  horribly :  yet  sooner  or 
later,  he  felt  in  his  soul,  it  must  come.  He  began  lo  see 
that  clearly  now.  He  had  passed  all  the  Foreign  Ofl&ce 
examinations  with  credit,  and  had  further  been  excused 
his  two  years  of  residence  abroad,  as  his  knowledge  of 
colloquial  French  was  pronounced  to  be  simply  perfect ; 
and  he  was  only  waiting  at  present  to  receive  his  appoint* 
ment.  But  how  live  in  this  hateful  state  ?  It  snamed 
him  to  take  another  penny  of  Mr,  Hay  ward's  money. 

Early  in  January,  however,  an  event  occurred  which 
compelled  him  to  hasten  his  decision  one  way  or  the 
other. 

Tt  was  a  foggy  day  in  towD..  BlacJc  mist  veiled  all 
London.  The  lamps  burned  yellow.  Carriages  crawled 
slow  through  melting  slusri  in  Bond  Street.  Tno  frost 
had  paralyzed  tLafiio  alon^  ue  main  thoroughfares  ;  and 
the  practice    of  photograj|juy  was  suspended    for  th« 


r 

ft 


'.iir^' 


' ' 


;     t: 


^74 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


moment  by  thick  gloom  that  might  be  felt  in  Mortimei 
and  Co.'s  studio. 

As  they  lounged  and  bored  themselves,  a  lady  came  to 
the  door,  who  asked  to  see  Mr.  llayward.  She  was  a 
lady  of  a  certain  age,  and  of  a  certain  girth,  too,  but  still 
handsome  and  buxom  with  ripe  matronly  beauty.  The 
young  woman  with  the  tously  hair,  in  the  shop  down- 
stairs, passed  her  up  languidly  to  the  oflice.  The  joung 
man  in  the  office,  twirhng  his  callow  moustache,  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  her  before,  and  to  have  sent  home  her 
photographs  to  a  private  room  at  the  Metropole.  It  was 
difficult  indeed  for  anyone  to  forget  those-  great  magnetic 
eyes.  Madame  Mirett",  he  recollected,  the  famous  un- 
accredited Eussian  ;,geut.  So  he  showed  her  up  to  the 
sanctum  with  much  awed  respect.  "Was  she  not  known 
to  be  some  great  one,  acquainted  with  peers,  nor  unfami- 
liar with  royalties  ? 

Mr.  Hayward  sat  at  the  desk,  writing  letters  or  making 
notes,  as  Madame  Mireff  entered.  He  rose  to  receive  her 
with  that  stately  civility  of  his  younger  Court  life  which 
twenty  years  of  English  shopkeeping  had  never  yet  got 
rid  of.  She  took  his  hand  with  warmth  ;  but  his  very 
manner,  as  he  motioned  her  gracefully  to  the  big  easy- 
chair,  warned  Madame  at  once  of  the  footing  on  which 
they  were  to  stand  in  their  interview  to-day.  No  more 
of  Euric  Brassoif  or  of  incriminating  disclosures.  She 
was  a  lady  of  rank  ;  he  was  plain  Mortimer  now,  the  Bond 
Street  photographer. 

•  Good-morning,  Madame,'  he  said  in  French,  leaning 
carelessly  forward  to  scan  her  face  close.  '  How  well 
Yoa're  looking  1  And  how  gay — how  lively  I  That's  lucky 
for  me.  I  can  see  by  the  smile  on  your  face,  by  this  air 
of  general  content,  by  this  happy  expression,  you've  buo- 
ceeded  in  your  object.* 

Olga  MircfT  looked  radiant  indo(>d. 

*  Yes,'  she  answered  with  conscious  pride,  '  I've  beeo 
able  to  do  somtthing  at  last  {)r  our  counnon  country'— 
but  she  faltered  as  she  spoke,  for  Mr.  Hayward  frowned. 
'  I  mean,  that  is  to  say  ...  for  your  young  friend,'  she 
added  hastily,  corrocting  herself,  with  that  deep  blush  on 
her  roaudid  cheeka  that  bo  well  became  her. 


k.  \n 


THE  CRTSIv<5  COMKS 


ns 


•Better  no*  "Nfr.  11  ^y ward  replied  in  a  low  voice. 
'  BeMor  »o,  M.»divmc  Min^lT.  Yon  \'  >w  mynile.  Miuiinlsr. 
ih6  a'h'crnc  ch<inces.  One  comprotiwBiTig  in'.eiyiew  is  more 
than  ('\u\\\f;h  alrcndy.     To-day — we  are  ofTcial.' 

TNliuiame  b'ushed  and  looked  down  again.  The  pre- 
sence of  the  great  man  made  that  woman  nervous, 
who  never  quailed  in  society  before  wit,  or  rank  or 
irony,  or  statesmanship.  She  fumbled  her  muff  awk^ 
wardly. 

'  I've  mentioned  your  young  friend's  name  to  Sir 
Arthur  Beaumont,  who  knows  his  family,'  she  said,  stam- 
mering, '  and  to  Lord  Caistor,  and  others ;  and  I've 
brought  pressure  to  bear  upon  him  from  his  own  side  of 
the  House,  and,  what's  better  at  this  juncture,  from  the 
Irish  members.  You  know  ce  cher  O'ilanagan — he's  my 
devoted  slave.  I  put  the  screw  on.  Fortunately,  too, 
young  Mr.  Cazalet  had  fallen  in  with  one  or  two  of  the 
patriots,  and  impressed  them  favourably  as  a  friend  and 
champion  of  oppressed  nationalities  everywhere ;  and 
they  gave  him  their  influence.  So  the  thing's  as  good  as 
settled  now      Here's  what  Lord  Caistor  writes.' 

And  she  held  out  in  one  plump  hand  the  Eoreign 
Secretary's  letter. 

Mr.  Hayward  took  it,  and  read  ; 

*  Dear  Madame  Mireff, 

'  It  surpluses  mo  to  learn  you  shonid  think  her 
Majesty's  Government  could  be  influenced  by  motives 
such  as  those  you  allude  to  in  making  or  withholding 
diplomatic  appointments.  Nothing  but  considerations  of 
personal  fitno-s  and  educational  merit  ever  weigh  with 
us  at  all  in  our  careful  selection  of  public  PejTants.  I  am 
Borry  to  say,  there  .>re,  I  must  decline,  even  in  my  private 
capacity,  to  bold  any  communication  with  you  on  so 
official  a  subject.  I  am  not  even  aware  inyself  what 
Belection  may  be  made  for  this  vacant  post-  the  matter 
lies  mainly  with  my  undersecrotary — nor  would  I  »illow 
Sir  Arthur  Beaimi  nt  to  mention  to  me  your  pniti'ii4'i 
name,  lest  I  should  be  prejudiced  against  him  ;  but  you 
will  find  the  announcement  of  the  fortunate  candidate  in 
the  Gazette  at  an  early  date.     K«?grettirig  that  I  am  un» 


nt 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


ftble  to  serre  yoa  in  this  matter,  I  remain,  as  ever,  with 
the  profoundest  respect, 

•  Yours  very  sincerely, 

'  Gaibtob.' 

Mr.  Hayward  put  the  letter  down  with  a  deep  sigh  of 
reliel 

♦  Then  he's  got  the  honorary  attach6ehip  at  Vienna,'  he 
said,  almost  gasping.  '  Nowhere  else  could  be  better. 
It's  splendid — splendid  I' 

For  those  two  knew  well  how  to  read  and  speak  the 
diplomatic  dialect. 

Tears  stood  in  the  chief's  eyes.  He  brushed  them  away 
hastily.  Tears  stood  in  Madame  Mirelf  s.  She  let  them 
roll  down  her  cheeks. 

'  Have  I  done  well  ?*  she  faltered  timidly. 

And  Euric  Brassoflf,  seizing  her  hand,  and  pressing  it 
hard  in  both  his  own,  murmured  in  answer : 

'  You  have  done  well  You  have  deserved  much  of 
humanity.' 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then  Madame  rose 
and  stood  irresolute.  Short  shrift  is  the  best  rule  in 
revolutionary  affairs.     She  held  out  one  trembling  hand. 

'  That's  all,'  she  said  regretfuUy,  half  longing  to  stop, 
half  fearing  to  ask  for  respite. 

And  Mr.  Hayward,  inexorable,  taking  the  proffered 
hand,  answered  in  his  mechanical  business  voice  onoa 
more  : 

•  That'i  all.  No  further  now.  I  shall  write  to  Owen 
to-day.  .  .  .  He'll  need  two  hundred  pounds  at  once, 
of  course,  to  enable  him  to  take  up  so  important  an 
appointment.' 

'  You  would  .  .  .  permit  me  to  lupply  it  ?'  Madama 
▼entured  to  ask  timidly. 

The  chief  shook  his  head  and  smiled. 

'  Keep  your  money,'  he  answered,  in  a  cold  tone  of 
eommaud.  '  I  have  no  need  for  it  now.  Funds  are 
plentiful  at  present.  You  offer  too  freely,  Madame. 
When  I  require  aught  from  any  of  you,  rest  assured,  I 
ihall  ask  for  it.' 

He  rose  and  motioned  her  out  with  princely  dignity. 


OWBN  DEBATES 


til 


For  a  second  he  held  the  door  ajar,  and  spoke  in  English, 
audibly,  as  he  bowed  >  .smissal. 

'  I  regret  very  much,'  he  said,  *  we  should  have  mis- 
nnderstood  your  instructions.  No  more  of  the  platino- 
types  shall  be  exposed  for  sale  till  we've  altered  the 
inscription.  I  apologize  for  our  mistake.  We'll  with- 
draw them  altogether,  in  fact,  if  you  think  them  in  any 
respect  unworthy  our  reputati(  n.' 


$ 

ill!' 


I    I 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


OWEN  DEBATES. 


At  Moor  Hill  next  morning  Owen  was  busy  at  his 
favourite  winter  pastime  of  boxing  a  stuffed  sack  sus- 
pended from  a  beam,  when  the  postman  entered.  His 
room  overlooked  the  garden  gate,  and  his  imaginary  op- 
ponent dangled  sideways  to  the  light  not  far  from  the 
window,  so  he  commanded  the  situation,  even  while 
busily  engaged  in  his  punching  and  pummelling.  As  a 
man  of  peace,  indeed,  Owen  disapproved  of  boxing,  ex- 
cept with  gloves  and  muffle  ;  but  from  the  point  of  view 
of  pure  exercise,  he  delighted  in  the  muscular  play  of  it, 
and  was  an  expert  in  the  art,  as  in  so  many  other 
branches  of  athletic  practice.  He  had  just  dealt  his 
swinging  antagonist  a  vigorous  blow  between  the  eyes, 
which  sent  him  reeling  into  space,  when  he  caught  sight 
from  afar  of  a  certain  square  blue  envelope  in  the  post- 
man's hand  of  a  most  familiar  pattern.  He  knew  it  at  a 
glanca  It  was  the  business  envelope  of  Mortimer  and 
Co.,  photographers,  in  Bond  Street. 

In  a  tumult  of  expectancy  he  rushed  down  to  the  door, 
in  jersey  and  drawers  as  he  stood,  his  strong  arms  all 
sleeveless,  and  his  brawny  neck  all  bare,  to  Aunt  Julia's 
infinite  horror,  on  grounds  alike  of  health  and  of 
modesty. 

'  You'll  catch  your  death  of  cold  one  of  these  fine 
winter  days,  going  to  the  door  like  tbat  in  bitter  frosty 
weather.' 

He  took  the  note  from  the  postman's  hands  and  tore  it 

12 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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Corporation 


23  Vtftil  MAM  STRUT 

WIISTm,N.Y.  14SM 

(7U)l7a-4S03 


i 


rfi 


tNDBR  SBAIvBD  ORDERS 


open  hnrrie31y.  Yet  so  deoply  was  respect  for  Mr.  Hay- 
ward  ingi-aiacd  in  the  youn.j  man's  nature  tli?.t  he  laid 
the  more  envelope  down  on  the  table  with  reverent  care, 
instead  of  tosiQinc;  it  into  the  fire  at  once,  as  was  his 
invariable  wont  with  bss  sacred  comraunioationB.  As  he 
read  it,  however,  his  face  fiuoLed  hot,  and  his  hoart 
fluttered  vioUjntly.  Oh,  what  on  earth  should  ^q  do 
now?  A  bolt  from  th ti  bl ao  had  fpllon.  Ho  stocu  f:'.ca 
to  face  with  his  grand  dilemma  at  last.  He  must  cast 
his  die  once  for  all.  He  must  cross — or  refuse  to  cross— 
his  dreaded  Bubicon. 

*  My  deab  Owen,'  Mr.  Hayward  wrote,  '  I  have  good 
news  for  you  to-day,  after  lon£»,  long  waiting.  An  in- 
fluential friend  of  mine  —  one  of  our  own,  and  most 
faithful — has  just  informed  mo  your  appointment's  as 
good  as  made,  the  attaohesliip  ab  Vienna.  It'll  be 
gazetted  at  once,  so  Lord  Caistor  implies,  and  probc\biy 
by  the  same  post  with  this  you'll  receive  the  oLicial  an- 
nouncement. Come  up  to  town  direct,  as  soon  as  ever  it 
reaches  you,  and  bring  the  Fortiigu  Ofllce  letter  along  in 
your  pocket.  I've  placed  iwo  nuadred  pounds  to  your 
credit  at  once  at  Drummonds,  Coatcs  and  Barclay's,  and 
have  asked  them  at  the  same  time  to  let  you  have  a 
cheque-book.  But  I  must  tako  you  round  there  when 
you  run  up,  to  introduce  you  to  the  firm,  and  to  let  them 
see  your  signature.  For  the  rest,  attaches,  as  you  know, 
get  nothing  at  all  in  the  way  of  salary  for  the  first  two 
years ;  so  you  must  look  to  me  for  an  allowance,  which 
I  need  hardly  say  will  be  as  liberal  as  necessary.  I  can 
trust  you  too  well  to  fear  any  needless  extravagance  on 
your  part.  On  the  coucrary ,  what  I  dread  most  is  too 
conscientious  an  eooni>my.  Thib  you.  must  try  to  avoid. 
Live  like  others  of  your  ciiiBt, ;  dross  well ;  spend  freoly. 
Bemember,  in  high  posis  uiuch  is  expected  of  you.  Bui 
all  this  will  keep  till  wo  meeii.  On  your  account,  I'm 
overjoyed.    Kindest  regards  to  JMiss  Cazalot. 

*  jTour  atiOa\<ionate  guardian, 

*  IjAMiiEuT  Hayward.* 

This  letter  drove  Ow^a  half  frantic  witli  reuiorsa. 
*  Qood  news  for  yon  to-day  '•  — '  overjoyed  on  your  ao« 


OWKN  DBBATB8 


>I9 


eotint ' — abo^e  all, '  in  high  posts,  much  ii  expected  of 
you.'  The  double  meaning  in  that  phrase  stung  hie  con- 
science like  a  snake.  Much  was  expected,  no  dcubt ; 
oh,  how  little  would  be  accomplished  ! 

'  May  I  look  ?'  Aunt  Julia  asked,  seeing  him  lay  the 
note  down  with  a  face  of  abject  despair. 

And  Owen,  in  his  lonely  wretchedness,  answered : 

'  Yes,  you  may  look  at  it.' 

It  wa&  intended  for  the  public  eye,  he  felt  sure — an 
official  communication  —  else  why  that  unoa'^od  for 
•  Kindest  regards  to  Miss  Cazalet '  ? 

Aunt  Julia  read  it  over  with  the  profoundest  disappro- 
bation. 

'  Vienna  t'  she  cried,  with  a  frown.  '  That's  so  far  ofTl 
Bo  unhealthy  f  And  in  a  Catholio  State,  too  I  And 
they  say  society's  loose,  and  the  temptations  terrible. 
Not  at  all  the  sort  of  Court  that  I  should  have  liked  you 
to  mix  with.  If  it  had  been  Berlin,  now,  Owen,  especially 
)ja.  the  dear,  good  old  Emperor's  days — he  was  such  a 
true  Christian  1' 

And  Aunt  Julia  heaved  a  sigh.  Vienna  indeed  I 
Vienna  I  That  wicked  great  townl  She  remembered 
Prince  Budolph. 

■  It's  awfully  sudden,'  Owen  gasped  out. 

"Wonder  seized  Aunt  Julia.  Though  not  very  deep,  she 
>»vas  woman  enough  to  read  in  his  pallid  face  the  fact 
that  he  was  not  delighted.  That  discovery  emboldened 
her  to  say  a  word  or  two  more.  A  word  in  season,  how 
good  it  is  I 

'  Aiid  thav  certainly  isn't  the  way  a  person  of  mature 
years  ought  to  write  to  a  young  man,'  she  went  on 
■everely.  '  Just  look  at  this :  "  Live  like  others  of  your 
elasfl ;  dro^b  well ;  spend  freely .*'  Is  that  the  sort  of  ad- 
vice a  middle-aged  man  should  offer  his  ward  on  his 
entrance  into  life?    ••  Dress  well;  spend  freely."    Dis- 

Saceful  t     Disgraceful  I     I've    always    distrusted    Mx 
ayward's  principles. 

•  Mr.  Hay  ward  understands  character,  Owen  answered, 
kndling  M^.  As  Hbual,  Aunt  Julia  had  defeated  her  own 
end.  Opposition  to  Lis  idol  roused  at  once  the  rebellious 
Bossukn  element  in  her  nephew's  soul.    And,  boBidee,  be 


lai  UNDER  8BALBD  ORDERS 

knew  the  eompliment  was  well  deserved,  that  too  eon* 
Bcientious  economy  was  the  stumbliug-block  in  his  case. 
'  I  shall  go  up  to  town  at  once,  I  think,  without  waiting 
to  get  the  o£^oial  letter.' 

'Mr.  Hayward  won't  like  that,'  Annt  Julia  put  in, 
ooming  now  to  the  aid  of  what  was,  after  all,  duly  con- 
stituted authority. 

Owen  was  too  honest  to  take  refuge  in  a  subterfuge. 

'  I  didn't  say  I'd  go  to  Mr.  Hayward,'  he  answered. 
*  There  are  more  people  than  one  in  London,  I  believai. 
I  said,  to  London.' 

'  Where  will  you  go,  then  ?'  Aunt  Julia  asked,  marrel- 
Kng. 

And  Owen  answered,  with  transparent  evasiTeneyi : 

'  Why,  to  Sacha's,  naturally.' 

On  the  way  up,  the  last  struggle  within  him  went  ob 
nninterrupted.  They  were  front  to  front  now ;  love  and 
duty  tooth  and  nail.  He  grew  hot  in  the  face  with  the 
brunt  of  the  combat.  There  was  no  delaying  &.  longer. 
He  couldn't  accept  Mr.  Hayward's  two  hundred  pounds. 
He  couldn't  take  up  the  diplomatic  appointment.  He 
couldn't  go  to  Vienna.  Black  ingratitude  as  it  might 
seem,  he  must  throw  it  all  up.  He  must  tell  Mr.  Hay- 
ward point-blank  to  his  face  it  was  impossible  for  him 
now  and  henceforth  to  touch  one  penny  more  of  Kihiliit 
money. 

Owen  had  doubts  in  his  own  mind  indeed,  if  it  oame  to 
that  now,  as  to  the  abstract  rightfulness  of  political 
assassination.  Time  works  wonders.  Love  is  a  great 
political  teacher.  As  fervently  Bnssian  and  as  fervently 
revolutionary  in  conviction  as  ever,  he  was  yet  beginning 
to  believe  in  educating  Czars  out  instead  of  cauterizing 
them  with  dynamite.  It  was  a  question  of  method  alone, 
to  be  sure,  not  of  ultimate  object.  Still,  method  is  some- 
thing. Not  only  must  the  wise  man  see  his  end  clearly ; 
he  must  choose  his  means,  too,  with  consummate  prudence. 
And  lonfi's  arguments  had  made  Owen  doxibt,  even 
against  Mr.  Hayward's  supreme  authority^  whether 
•hooting  your  Czar  was  the  best  possible  meaub  ot 
utilizing  him  tor  humanity.  How  much  grander,  how 
■snch  more  impressive,  it  would  be,  for  example— to 


OWBN  DEBATBt 


•OBveri  him  I    That  was  a  splendid  idetk    What  a  vista 

opened  there  I    Bat  Mr.   Ilayward?     His  heart  sank 

again.    Mr.  Hayward  wouldn't  Bee  it. 
Arrived  at  the  fiat  off  Yiotoria  Street,  he  didn't  even 

go  through  the  formality  of  asking  for  Sacha.    He  flung 

himself,  full  face,  into  lond'a  arms,  and  oried  oat  in  the 

bittemesB  of  his  soul : 
'  Oh,  lond,  lond,  I've  got  my  appointment.' 
lond  took  hie  kiss,  and  started  back  in  dismay.    Her 

face  went  very  white.    She  didn't  pretend  to  eongratn- 

late  him. 

*  Then  the  oriaie  has  oome,'  she  said,  trembling.  *  Toa 
must  decide — this  morning.' 

Owen  followed  her  blindly  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
handed  her  the  letter  to  read.  She  took  it  in  mechani- 
cally. Then  she  let  her  hand  drop  by  her  side,  with  the 
fatal  paper  held  loose  in  it. 

*  And  what  will  you  decide  ?'  she  asked,  told  at  heart 
•nd  sobbing  inwardly. 

•Whatwws^I,  lonfi?' 

She  girl  shook  like  a  lea!  in  the  wbd. 

*  It's  for  yon  to  say,  Owen,'  nhe  answered.  *  Donl  let 
flM  stand  in  your  way—or  Russia's  either.  What  am  I 
that  you  should  doubt?  Why  make  me  an  obstacle? 
Yoa  may  be  secretary  in  time—envoy — mioistflc — ambas- 
sador.' 

'Or  Bnssia'ft  either.'  Owen  repeated,  musing,  and 
BsiKing  her  hr.nd,  more  in  doubt  than  in  love,  just  to 
steady  bimstlf  internally.  '  Oh,  darling,  I'd  have  thought 
it  treadon  even  to  think  so  once.  But  it's  horrible,  it's 
wicked,  it's  inhuman  of  me  to  say  it ;  lond,  for  your  sake, 
rather  than  oause  your  dear  heart  one  moment's  pain, 
I'd — I'd  SMjriCico  RuGsia.' 

'It  ian't  inhuinan/  lend  answered,  flushing  red  in  a 
mdden  revulsion  of  feeling  from  despair  to  hope.  *  It's 
liaman,  human,  hmnan—that's  just  what  it  is;  it's 
knman.' 

Owen  held  her  hand  tighi  It  seemed  to  give  him 
finngth. 

*  Tes,  Russia,'  he  said  slowly.  •  I  eoold  Merifiee  thai  | 
b«t  Mr.  Hayward— Mr.  Hay  ward  I' 


UNDER  8BALBD  CRDBAS 


•  Obey  your  own  heart/  lonfi  answered ;  but  she 
pressed  his  hand  in  return  with  just  the  faintest  little 
pressure.  •  If  it  bids  you  do  so,  then  sacrifice  me,  by  all 
means,  to  Mr.  Hay  ward.* 

•Icnfi" 

He  looked  at  her  reproachfully.  How  could  she  frame 
tuch  a  sentence  ?  Surely  she  knew  it  was  duty,  and,  oh  1 
BO  hard  to  follow. 

lone  flung  herself  upon  his  shoulder,  and  burst  wildly 
Into  tears. 

*  Darling,'  she  cried,  sobbing  low,  *  I  don't  want  to  in- 
fluence you  against  your  conscience  and  your  convic- 
tions. But  how  can  I  give  you  up  to  such  a  dreadful 
future  ?• 

Owen  felt  it  wjs  all  up.  Her  arms  wound  round  him 
now.  Could  he  tear  hiroself  away  from  them  and  say  in 
cold  blood,  *  I  will  go  to  my  death,  where  duty  calls  me  *  ? 

That  was  all  very  well  for  romance ;  but  in  real,  real 
life  lone's  tearful  face  would  have  haunted  him  for  ever. 
Very  vaguely,  too,  he  felt,  as  lone  had  said,  that  to  yield 
was  human.  And  what  is  most  human  is  most  right ; 
not  Spartan  virtue,  but  the  plain  dictates  of  our  common 
inheritfd  emotion.  That  is  the  voice  of  nature  and  of 
God  within  us.  Those  whom  we  love  and  those  who 
love  us  are  nearer  and  dearer  to  us  by  far  than  Kussia. 
Supreme  devotion  to  an  abstract  cause  is  grand — in  a 
fanatic;  but  you  must  have  the  fanatic's  temper,  and 
fanaticism  roots  ill  in  so  alien  a  soil  as  the  six  feet  two  of 
A  sound  English  athlete. 

He  clasped  her  in  his  strong  arms.  He  bent  over  her 
and  kissed  her.  He  dried  her  bright  eyes,  all  the  brighter 
for  their  tears. 

'  lone,'  he  cried  in  decisive  accents,  '  the  bitterness  of 
death  is  past.  I've  made  my  mind  up.  I  don't  know 
how  I'm  ever  to  free  Mr.  Hay  ward.  But  sooner  or  later, 
face  him  I  will.    I'll  tell  him  it's  impossible.' 

'  Go  nowi  lond  said  firmly.  '  Strike  while  the  iron's 
hot,  Owen.' 

The  very  thought  unnerved  him. 

'  But  what  shall  I  say  about  the  money  Pve  had — the 
■ohooling — the  care?'   he  asked,  pleading  mutely    for 


OWBN  DBBATB8 


tfi 


delay.  '  He's  done  bo  much  for  me,  darling.  He's  been 
more  than  a  father  to  me.  It's  too  terrible  to  diBiUusion 
him.' 

long  stood  up  and  faced  the  falterer  bravely. 

'  You  oughtn't  to  let  him  wait  one  minute  longer,  then,' 
Bhe  said  with  courage.  '  Undeceive  him  at.  once.  It's 
right.     It's  manly.' 

'  You've  touched  it,'  Owen  answered,  driven  to  action 
by  tlie  last  word:  *  If  I've  got  to  do  it,  I  must  do  it  now. 
Before  the  appointment's  made.  I  mustn't  let  them 
gazette  me.' 

lonS  drew  back  in  turn,  half  afraid. 

'  But  your  future  ?'  she  cried.  *  Your  future  ?  We 
ought  to  think  about  that.  What  on  earth  will  yoa  do 
if  you  refuse  this  attocheship?* 

Owen  laughed  a  gnm  little  laugh. 

'  We  can't  afford  to  stick  now  at  trifles  like  that,*  he 
said  bitterly.  •  If  I'm  to  give  up  this  post,  I  must  look 
out  for  myself.  I'm  cast  high  and  dry — straudei?.'  He 
glanced  dovm  at  his  big  limbs.  •  But  anyhow,'  he  added, 
with  a  cheerful  revulsion,  *I  can  break  stones  against 
any  man,  or  sweep  a  croBsing.' 


CHAPTEB  XXVHL 

VBB     LUBBLB     BCliSTB. 

Ok  any  other  day  Owen  would  have  taicen  a  cab  to  Bond 
Btreet.  This  morning  he  walked,  thougn  with  fiery  haste. 
For  every  penny  he  spent  now  was  Mr.  Hay  ward's  and 
the  Nihilists'.  So  in  had  always  been,  of  course,  but  ho 
felt  it  ten  tiUousand  times  more  at  present.  The  dead 
weight  of  iu-t  ^ast  debt  nung  round  his  neck  like  a  mill- 
stone. jNOb  ior  worlds  would  he  have  increased  it,  ae 
things  stood  mak  aay,  by  a  twopenny  omnibus  fare. 

Mr.  Hayward  met  liiia  at  the  door  of  the  photographic 
sanctum,  and  j^-.aapatl  ins  Uand  warmly.  "The  pressure 
went  straight  to  Owen's  neart  like  a  knife.  If  only  he 
nau  oeei-  cold  to  L!m  I     Bxic  this  k.udlinosB  was  killing. 

*  Wtill,'  me  elder  ma^  cand,  beaming,  and  motioning 


'F 


jII  VMDSR  SSALBD  0RDBK8 

his  wiurd  iiuio  »  ohair  with  that  princely  wave  <^  hli } 
'  they've  been  prompt  about  the  announoement,  then. 
Tou  got  the  odioial  note  by  the  same  post  as  my 
letter?* 

Owen's  tongue  misgave  him.  But  he  managed  to  falter 
out,  with  some  little  difficulty : 

'  No,  it  hasn't  come  yet,  Mr.  Hayward.  I — ^I  wanted 
to  anticipate  it.' 

The  chief's  face  fell 

'  That  was  not  in  my  orders,  Owen,'  he  said  with  in- 
flexible gravity.  '  What  a  stumbling-block  it  is,  this  per- 
petual over-zeal  I  How  often  shall  I  still  have  to  warn 
my  most  trusted  subordinates  that  too  much  readiness  if 
every  bit  as  bad  and  as  dangerous  as  too  little  ?' 

'  But  that  wasn't  it,  Mr.  Hayward,'  Owen  answered  as 
well  as  he  could.  '  I  had  a  reason  for  anticipating  the 
ofBoial  announcement.  I  desired  to  prevent  the  gazetting 
of  the  appointment.    I  may  as  well  tell  you  all  first  as 

last '    He  was  shaking  like  a  jelly.     '  Mr.  Hayward 

— oh,  I  can't — yet  I  must  This  is  terrible.'    He 

blurted  it  out  with  a  gulp.  *  I  don't  mean  to  go  at  all 
into  the  diplomatic  service.' 

The  shock  had  not  yet  come.  Mr.  Hayward,  gazing 
blankly  at  him,  failed  to  take  it  all  in.  He  only  looked 
and  looked,  and  shook  his  head  slowly  as  in  doubt  for  a 
minute.  Then  he  ejaculated  '  Afraid  ?'  in  very  unemo> 
tional  accents. 

This  word  roused  Owen  Gazalet's  bitterest  contempt. 

'  Afraid  1'  he  cried,  bridling  up  in  spite  of  his  grief  and 
remorse.  '  Afraid  I  Can  you  think  it  ?'  and  he  glanced 
down  involuntarily  at  those  fearless  strong  hands.  '  But 
I  have  doubts  in  my  own  mind  as  to  the  rightfulness  of 
the  undertaking.' 

Mr.  Hayward  looked  through  him,  and  beyond  him, 
as  he  answered  as  in  a  dream : 

'  Doubts— as  to  the  desirabiUty  of  exacting  poniehment 
upon  the  chief  criminal?' 

'  Doubts  as  to  how  far  I  am  justified — an  Englishman 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  and  a  British  subject ' 

'  In  avenging  your  father's  death,'  Mr.  Hayward  cried, 
iuterruptin^  hua,  '  your  molh«r'g  madness,  your  gigttr'i 


THB  BUBBLB  BURSTS 


exile,  Owen  Gazalet ;  Sergius  Selistoff,  ia  that  whiA  jou 
mean  ?  You  tuiii  your  back  now  on  the  Cause,  and  on 
martyred  Bussia  T 

His  expression  was  so  terrible,  so  pained,  so  injured ; 
there  was  such  a  fire  in  his  eve,  such  a  tremor  in  his 
Toice,  such  an  earnestness  in  his  manner,  that  Owen, 
now  face  to  face  with  the  cherished  and  idolized  teacher, 
and  away  from  lond,  felt  his  resolution  totter,  and  his 
knees  sii:^  under  him.  For  a  moment  he  paused ;  then 
suddenly  he  broke  forth,  this  time  in  Bussian : 

'Lambert  HaywardI  he  said,  using  the  familiar 
Bussian  freedom  of  the  Christian  name,  '  I  must  speak 
oat.  I  must  explain  to  you.  For  weeks  and  weeks  this 
crisis  has  been  coming  on,  and  my  mind  within  me  grow- 
ing more  and  more  divided.  I'm  a  man  now,  you  seo, 
and  a  man's  thoughts  rise  up  in  me,  and  give  me  doubt 
and  disturbance.  Oh,  for  weeks,  for  your  sake,  I've 
dreaded  this  day.  I've  hated  the  bare  idea.  I've  ^runk 
from  telling  you.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  this  special  nec^d 
I  could  never,  I  believe,  have  made  up  my  yiind  to  tell 
you.  I  wish  I  could  have  died  first.  But  I  can't— 1 
oan't  go  into  the  diplomatic  service.' 

Mr.  Hayward  gazed  at  him  still,  riveted  in  his  revolving 
ehair,  with  glassy  eyes  like  a  corpse,  and  white  hands, 
and  rigid  features.  The  change  that  was  coming  over 
him  appalled  and  terrified  Owen.     He  had  expected  a 

Seat  suock,  but  nothing  so  visible,  so  physical  as  this. 
r.  Hayward  nodded  his  head  once  or  twice  like  an  im- 
becile. Then  with  an  effort  he  answered  in  a  very  hollow 
voice : 

<  For  my  sake,  yon  say,  only  for  my  sake,  for  mine. 
But  how  about  Bussia — noly  martyred  Bussia  ?* 

Owen  felt,  with  a  glow  of  shame,  that  in  the  heat  of 
the  moment  he  had  wholly  forgotten  her.  But  he  didn't 
wound  his  friend's  feelings  still  more  deeply  than  he  need 
by  admitting  that  fact. 

'  I  would  do  much  for  Bussia,'  he  said  tlowly,  *  yery 
much  for  Bussia.* 

*  Yon  ought  to,'  Mr.  Hayward  interjected,  raising  one 
bloodless  hand,  and  speaking  in  the  voice  of  a  dying  man, 
*  lor  70a  owo  everythmg  to  her — your  birth,  your  blood, 


41 


tm 


UNDBR  SEALED  ORDERS 


your  fine  brain,  your  great  strength,  your  training,  your 
education,  your  very  exiatcnce  in  every  way.' 

*  Yes,  I  would  do  much  for  Ptvissia,'  Owen  went  on, 
])icking  his  phrase  with  difficulty,  and  feeling  his  heart 
like  a  stone — for  every  word  was  a  death-knell  to  Mr. 
Hay  ward's  hopes — 'if  I  felt  certain  of  my  end,  and  of  the 
fitness  and  suitability  of  my  means  for  producing  it.  But 
I've  begun  to  have  doubts  about  this  scheme  for — for  the 
punishment  of  the  chief  bureaucrat.  I  am  not  so  sore  af 
I  once  was  I  should  be  justified  in  firing  at  him.' 

Fc.  a  second  the  old  light  flashed  in  Mr.  Hayward'i 
eyes. 

'  Not  certain,'  he  eried,  raising  his  voice  to  an  un- 
wonted pitch — but  they  were  still  speaking  Russian — 
*  not  certain  you  would  be  justified  in  striking  a  blow  al 
the  system  that  sent  your  father  to  the  mines  and  your 
mother  to  the  madhouse?  Not  certain  you  would  be 
justified  in  punishing  the  man  who  sits  like  an  incubus  at 
the  head  of  an  organized  despotism  which  drives  the  dear 
ones  whom  we  love  to  languish  in  the  cells  of  its  central 
prisons,  and  wrings  the  last  drop  of  red  heart-blood  daily 
from  a  miserable  peasantry  ?  An  Englishman,  you  say, 
and  a  British  subject.  How  can  you  be  happy  here,  in 
this  land  of  exile,  while  in  the  country  where  you  were 
born  people  are  dying  of  hunger  by  the  hundred  at  a  time, 
because  a  Czar  snatches  from  them  their  last  crust  ol 
bread  and  confiscates  the  very  husks  under  the  name  of 
taxes?  Is  it  right?  Is  it  human?  Owen  Cazalet — 
Sergius  Selistoff — you  break  my  heart— I'm  ashamed  of 
your 

Mr.  Hayward  ashamed  of  hitn  t  Owen  bent  down  hia 
head  in  horror  and  remorse.  His  friend's  words  went 
right  through  him  like  a  keen  sharp  sword.  For  the 
worst  of  it  all  was,  in  the  main,  he  admitted  their  justice. 
He,  a  Bussian  born,  son  and  heir  of  a  Russian  martyr, 
nursed  on  Nihilist  milk,  fed  on  Nihilist  bread,  L'oared 
with  care  by  the  great  head  of  the  Nihilist  Cause  ia 
England — how  could  he  turn  his  back  now  upon  the 
foster-mother  faith  that  bnd 'suckled  and  nurtured  him? 
If  only  he  could  have  kept  to  his  childish  behef  1  if  only 
he  oottld  have  drunk  in  all  those  lessons  as  he  ought  1 


THB  BUBBLB  BURSTS  10§ 

Bnt,  alM  t  h«  couldn't.  Take  it  how  yon  will,  ao  good 
Nihilist  can  be  reared  on  English  soil.  Yon  need  the 
near  presence  of  despotism  in  bodily  form,  and  the  horror 
it  awakens  by  direct  revulsion,  to  get  the  conditions  that 
produce  that  particular  strain.  Such  organisms  oan 
evolve  in  no  other  environment.  Ashamed  and  disgraced 
and  heart-broken  as  he  felt,  Owen  couldn't  have  fired 
one  shot  at  a  concrete  Czar  if  he'd  seen  him  that 
moment. 

He  may  have  been  right.  He  may  have  been  wrong. 
But  facts  are  facts ;  and  at  any  rate  he  couldn't. 

He  gazed  at  Mr.  Hayward  in  an  agony  of  remorse. 
Then  he  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  The  hot  tears  ran 
down  his  cheek,  big  strong  man  as  he  was. 

'  Oh,  this  is  terrible,'  he  said — '  terrible  1  It  cnts  me  to 
the  heart,  Mr.  Hayward,  that  I  must  make  you  so  miser- 
able.' 

The  white-faced  chief  stared  back  at  him  with  a  stony 
pallor  on  those  keen,  clear  features. 

'  Make  me  so  miserable  I'  he  cried  again,  wringing  his 
numbed  handa  in  despair.  '  Every  time  you  say  that 
vou  show  me  only  the  more  how  little  the  Cause  itself 
has  ever  been  to  you.'  He  seized  his  ward's  hand  sud- 
denly. '  Owen  Gazalet,'  he  exclaimed,  gazing  hard  at  it, 
*  listen  here ;  listen  here  to  ma  For  twenty  years,  day 
and  night,  I've  had  but  one  dream,  one  hope,  one  future. 
I've  ilived  for  the  day  when  that  great  strong  hand  of 
yours  should  clutch  the  chief  criminal's  throat,  or  bury  a 
knife  in  his  bosom.  .  .  .  For  twenty  years — ^twenty  years, 
day  and  night,  one  dream,  one  hope,  one  future.  .  .  . 
.  .nd  now  that  you  break  it  all  down  with  a  single  cruel 
kIow — not  whoUy  unexpected,  but  none  the  less  cruel 
and  crushing  for  all  that — is  it  of  myself  I  think— of  my 
ruined  life— of  my  blasted  expectations  ?  No,  no,  I  teU 
yon,  no — ten  thousand  times  no ;  I  think  only  of  Bussia 
— ^bleeding,  martyred  Bussia.  I  think  how  she  must  stiU 
wear  the  chains  you  might  have  struck  off  her.  I  think 
how  her  poor  children  m'ist  sicken,  and  starve,  and  die^ 
and  languish  in  gloomy  prisons  or  in  stifling  mines, 
because  you  have  been  untrue  to  your  trust  and  nn- 
(aitlful  to  your  promisa    I  think  but  of  her— whil^  y«r 


iM  Xrs&Sti  SBALBD  ORDBRS 

think  of  me.  Let  my  pooif  body  die,  let  my  poor  soul 
burn  in  bomiEg  hell  for  ever ;  but  give  freedom,  give 
hie,  give  hope,  and  bread,  and  light,  and  air,  to  Russia.' 

As  he  spoke  his  face  was  transfigured  to  an  unearthly 
beauty  Owen  had  never  before  seen  in  it.  The  enthusiasm 
of  a  lifetime,  crushed  and  shattered  by  one  deadly  blow, 
seemed  to  effloresce  all  at  once  into  a  halo  of  martyrdom. 
The  man  was  lovely  as  one  has  sometimes  seen  a  woman 
lovely  at  the  moment  of  the  consum.mation  of  a  life-long 
love.  But  it  was  the  loveliness  tik  despair,  of  pathetic 
resignation,  of  •  terrible,  blighting,  despondent  disiUus- 
Bion. 

Owen  gased  at  him,  and  felt  bis  own  heart  grow  cold 
tike  a  stone.  He  would  have  given  worlds  that  moment 
to  feel  once  more  he  hungered  and  thirsted  for  the  blood 
of  a  Czar.  But  he  didn't  feel  it,  he  couldn't  feel  it,  and 
he  wouldn't  pretend  to  it.  He  could  only  look  on  in 
silent  pity  and  awe  at  this  sad  wreck  of  a  great  hope, 
this  sudden  collapse  of  a  life-long  enthusiasm. 

At  last  Mr.  Hayward  spoke  again.  His  voice  was 
thick  and  hard. 

*lBit  this  girl?' he  asked  with  an  effort — 'this  lond 
Dracopoli?' 

Owen  was  too  proud  to  tell  a  lie,  or  to  prevaricate. 

*  It  is,'  he  said,  trembling.  '  I've  talked  it  all  over  with 
lend  for  weeks,  and  I  love  her  dearly.' 

The  chief  rose  slowly,  and  groped  his  way  across  the 
loom  towards  the  bell  like  a  blind  man. 

*  Talked  it  over  with  lone  V  he  cried  aloud.  *  Talked 
it  over  with  a  woman  I  Betrayed  the  Cause  I  divulged 
the  secret  I  Owen  Cazalet,  Owen  Gazalet,  I  would  never 
have  believed  it  of  you  1' 

Half-way  across  the  room  he  stopped  and  groaned 
aloud.    He  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  mouth. 

Owen  rushed  at  him  in  horror.  It  was  red,  red,  red. 
Then  he  knew  what  had  happened.  The  strain  had  been 
too  much  for  Mr.  Hayward's  iron  frame.  God  grant  il 
hadn't  killed  him  1    He  had  broken  n  blood>f  esseL 


1 

.11 


.^1 


:   ! 


'  m 


■'■'& 

i 

I        ui. 

1        -M 

l.i;r     MV     I'OOK     IIODV     DIK;     HIT    (JIVK    FUKKDOM,    (ilVK     l.IFK,    (IIVK    IIOI'K,  AND 
liUKAl),    AMI    l.ltlllT,    AM)   AlU,    TO   Kl  SSIA."-    Plll,'l'    188. 


BEGINNING  AFRESH 


OHAPTEB  XXIZ. 

BBeiNNINa  AFBI8B. 

In  a  yery  few  minutes  a  doctor  was  on  the  spot.  Large 
blood-vessel  on  the  lung,  he  said.  It  mljht  of  couree  be 
serious.  Patient  mustn't  on  any  account  go  down  to 
Ealing,  where  he  lived,  that  night.  Would  it  do,  Owen 
asked,  to  take  him  round  in  a  hansom  to  a  flat  near 
Victoria  Street  ?  The  very  thing,  the  doctor  answered. 
Only  carry  him  up  the  stairs.  So  in  less  th'r.n  half  an 
hour  the  phalanstery  was  increased  by  a  new  member, 
and  Mr.  Hayward  found  himself  comfortably  tucked  up 
in  long's  pretty  bed  with  the  cretonne  curtains. 

Oh,  irony  of  fate !  And  lond  was  the  Eve  who  had 
ruined  Eussia ! 

He  remained  there  a  week,  and  Owen  stopped  on  with 
him.  lonS  and  Blackbird  shared  a  bedroom  together 
meanwhile ;  but  Owen  slept  out  at  a  house  round  the 
comer,  spending  the  day  and  taking  his  meals  all  the 
time  with  the  community.  There  was  no  lack  of  nurses, 
indeed.  Owen  himself  was  assiduous,  and  Mr.  Hayward, 
in  spite  of  his  deep  despondency,  still  loved  to  have  his 
pupil  and  ward  beside  him.  It  pleased  him  a  little,  very 
little,  to  see  that,  even  if  Owen  had  fallen  away  from 
his  first  love  for  Russia,  he  retained  none  the  less  his 
personal  devotion  to  his  friend  and  instructor.  Then 
there  were  long  and  Sacha  and  Blackbird  as  well»  all 
eager  to  attend  to  the  sick  man's  wants ;  for  strange  to 
say,  now  th<^  worst,  as  she  thought,  was  over,  lond  felt 
no  repugnance  at  all  to  the  terrible  Bussian  who  had 
been  so  long  her  bugbear;  on  the  contrary,  in  her 
womanly  way,  she  really  pitied  and  sympathized  with 
him.  And  Mr.  Hayward,  though  he  regarded  lond  as 
the  prime  mover  in  the  downfall  of  his  life-long  hopes, 
yet  felt  very  strongly  her  personal  fascination;  so 
strangely  constituted  are  we,  so  complex,  so  ma,ny- 
stranded,  that,  as  he  loved  Owen  himself,  so  he  couldn't 
help  loving  Ion3  too,  because  she  loved  Owen,  and 
because  Owen  loved  her.     In  the  vMt  blank  left  by  th<i 


'  ii 


•A 


V 


JNDBR  SEALED  ORDERS 


utter  eoUapee  of  that  twenty-year  scheme  of  his,  It  waf 
BOine  famt  oomfort  to  him  to  feel  that  loving  hands  at 
least  were  stretched  out  without  stint  to  soothe  and 
eonsole  him. 

As  for  Saoha,  she  had  always  respected  and  venerated 
Mr.  Hayward  almost  as  much  as  Owen  himself  did ;  on 
her  he  had  claims  of  gratitude  in  many,  many  ways ;  she 
remembered  him  as  the  kind  friend  of  their  early  days, 
thd  one  link  with  her  childish  life,  the  brave  ally  of  their 
mother  in  her  darkest  hours,  the  preserver  who  had 
saved  them  from  the  cruel  hand  of  Eussian  despotism. 
And  the  grave,  solemn  earnestness  of  the  man  told  also 
on  her  calm  but  profoundly  impressionable  Slavonic 
nature.  Mr.  Hayward,  in  fact,  struck  a  chord  in  Sacha's 
being  which  no  mere  Western  could  touch.  She  felt 
herself  akin  to  him  by  the  subtle  link  of  ethnical  kin- 
ship. 

On  the  second  morning  of  his  illness,  when  Mr.  Hay- 
ward, more  conscious  now,  was  just  beginning  to  reawake 
to  the  utter  nothingness  of  his  future,  a  ring  came  at  the 
electric  bell,  which  lonS  ran  to  answer.  Blackbird  was 
sitting  just  then  by  the  sick  man's  bedside,  singing  soft 
and  low  to  him  a  plaintive  song  of  her  own  composing. 
It  was  a  song  about  how  sweet  'twould  be  these  cramping 
bonds  to  sever,  to  lie  beneath  the  soil,  free  from  earth's 
oare  and  moil,  life's  round  of  joyless  toil,  and  sleep  one 
drjamless  sleep  for  ever.  At  that  moment,  on  the  last 
11  le,  the  bell  rang  sharp,  and  long,  who  had  been  seated 
au  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  holding  her  enemy's  hand 
in  her  own,  and  soothing  it  gently  with  those  plump, 
round  fingers,  jumped  up  in  haste  at  the  familiar  summons 
to  the  door,  and  ran  out  to  open  it. 

As  she  opened  it,  she  saw  a  lady  of  mature  but  striking 
beauty,  with  large  magnetic  eyes,  which  she  seemed 
vaguely  to  recollect  having  seen  before  somewhere.  Then 
it  came  back  to  her  all  at  once — Ladv  Beaumont's  At 
Home— the  Bussian  agent,  that  dreadful  Madame  Mirefif  I 
The  spy  I  the  spy  I  —what  could  she  be  wanting  here  at 
■uoh  an  untoward  moment  7 

In  one  second  lond  was  a  Nihilist  full  fledged.  An 
tmissary  of  the  Gear  ooma  so  soon  on  the  proTl  after 


BEGINNING  APRBSa 


191 


onr  Mr.  Hayward  (for  she  adopted  him  on  the  spot  as 
part  and  parcel  of  the  phalanstery).  This  was  abomin- 
able, shameful!  But  she  rose  to  the  occasion.  You 
must  treat  spies  as  spies;  meet  lies  with  lies;  trump 
treachery  with  trickery.  At  that  instant  lon^,  born 
woman  that  she  was,  would  have  put  off  Madame  Mireff 
with  any  falsehood  that  came  handy,  rather  than  admit 
Id  the  Czar's  agent  the  incriminating  fact  that  they  were 
harbouring  a  hunted  and  persecuted  Nihilist.  He  might 
have  wanted  to  send  Owen  to  his  death,  no  doubt ;  and 
for  that  she  oould  hate  him  herself — it  was  her  right  as 
a  woman ;  but  no  third  person,  above  all  a  Eussian  spy, 
should  ever  get  out  of  her,  by  torture  or  treason,  by  force 
or  fraud,  by  wile  or  guile,  the  very  faintest  admission  of 
Mr.  Hayward's  presence. 

Madame  Mireff^  however,  smiling  her  very  friendliest 
■mile — oh,  how  lonS  hated  her  for  it,  the  serpent,  the 
reptile  I — handed  her  card  very  graciously  to  the  indignant 
girL  long  darted  an  angry  glance  at  it — '  Madame  Mireff, 
Hdtel  M^tropole.'  At  least,  then,  the  creature  had  the 
grace  to  acknowledge  openly  who  she  was — to  put  the 
whole  world  on  its  guard  against  her  as  a  Bussian 
detective. 

'Oh,  Miss  Dracopoli,'  Madame  said,  in  her  softest 
Toioe,  flooding  lond  with  the  light  of  those  lustrous  eyes, 
*  I  recollect  you  so  well.  I  had  the  pleasure,  you  know 
— Lady  Beaumont's,  you  remember.'  lonS  just  nodded 
an  ungracious  assent,  as  far  as  that  head  and  neck  of 
bexs  oould  make  t 'lemselves  ungracious.  '  Well,'  Madame 
went  on,  divining  her  inmost  thought,  and  still  bent  on 
fascination,  '  I  come  to-day  as  a  friend.  You've  no  need 
to  be  afraid  of  me.  I  won't  ask  whether  Mr.  Hayward's 
here,  for  I  know  you'll  tell  me  he  isn't—I  see  that  in 
your  eyes ;  but  will  you  take  in  my  card  and  be  so  kind 
as  to  show  it  to  everybody  in  the  house  ? — for  some  of 
them,  I  believe,  might  be  glad  to  see  me.' 

'  There's  no  Mr.  Hayward  here,'  lond  answered  boldly, 
looking  straight  in  her  visitor's  eyes,  and  telling  her  a  he 
oatright,  with  a  very  bold  face,  as  any  good  woman  and 
tne  would  tell  it  in  the  circumstances.  '  There's  only 
Qurselvet— *just  the  regular  family.     Miss  Braithwaitt 


X9> 


UMDBR  SBALltT)  0RDBR8 


you  don't  know.  And  as  for  Owen  and  Saoha,  I'm  tan 
t.hty  never  want,  as  long  as  they  live,  to  meet  you.' 

It  wasn't  polite,  but  it  was  straight  as  a  die,  for  lond'i 
one  wish  was  to  keep  the  Bussian  spy  from  entering  the 
premises. 

Meidame  Mireff,  however,  sympathized  with  the  girl's 
feelings  too  well  not  to  be  thoroughly  prepared  for  this 
sharp  reception.  She  smiled  once  more,  and  once  more 
tried  all  her  spells  (in  vain)  on  lonS. 

'  My  child,'  she  said  kindly,  •  you're  mistaken — quite 
mistarken.  I  come  as  a  friend.  I  ask  for  no  one.  I 
only  beg  you  to  take  my  card  in  as  I  say,  and  show  it 
to  everyone  in  all  your  household.' 

lond  hesitated.  No  harm  in  taking  it,  after  all; 
indeed,  till  Mr.  Hayward  had  seen  it,  she  hr«rdly  knew 
what  to  do.  But  she  wasn't  going  to  leave  the  strange 
woman  out  there  alone,  unwatched  and  unguarded. 

'  Blackbird  T  she  called  aloud,  '  just  come  out  here  a 
minute.  .  ,  .'  Then,  in  a  whisper :  *  Look  here,  stand 
there,  and  keep  an  eye  on  this  dreadful  woman.  Don't 
let  her  come  in.  If  she  tries  to  pass  you,  ^.hrow  your 
arms  round  her  at  once,  and  cling  to  her  for  dear  life, 
and  scream  out  at  the  top  of  your  voice  for  Owon.' 

Poor  Blackbird,  somewhat  startled  by  these  strange 
directions,  took  her  place  timidly  where  she  was  told, 
and  kept  her  own  eyes  fixed  on  the  large-eyed  woman. 
Mesmeric,  she  fancied,  the  kind  of  person  to  send  you 
into  a  deep,  a  delicious  long  sleep  where  no  Greek  verbs 
would  trouble  your  brain,  no  dreams  disturb  you.  But 
Ion§,  tripping  scornfully  in,  carried  the  card  in  her  hand 
to  Mr.  Hayward's  bedside,  and  held  it  before  him  without 
a  word,  to  pass  his  own  judgment  on  it. 

A  wan  smile  came  over  the  sick  man's  pale  face. 

<  What  ?  Olga,  dear  Olga  !'  he  said,  like  one  pleased 
and  comforted.     '  Show  her  in,  Ion6.' 

•  But  she's  a  Russian  spy,'  lone  objected  imprudently. 

Mr.  Hayward  looked  up  at  her  with  a  white  face  of 
horror. 

'  What  do  ycyu  know  about  all  this  ?'  he  asked  sternly. 
This  is  treason.    This  is  betrayal  I' 

Poor  Ion3 1    The  words  came  upon  her  like  a  shook  o( 


BEGINNING  AFRESH 


193 


eold  water.  She  had  been  thinking  only  of  protecting 
him ;  and  this  was  how  he  repaid  her.  But  even  so,  she 
remembered  first  her  duty  to  Owen. 

'  He  never  told  me,'  she  said  proudly.  '  He  never 
betrayed  you.  You  betrayed  yourself.  I  found  it  out, 
all  by  guess-work,  that  first  night  in  Morocco.' 

Mr.  Hayward  ran  over  with  his  glance  that  pretty 
chestnut  hair,  those  merry  frank  eyes,  and  groaned  in- 
wardly, audibly.  He  had  let  out  his  secret,  then,  him- 
Belf  to  babes  and  sucklings.  He  had  betrayed  his  own 
eause  to  a  girl,  a  woman. 

*  WeU.,  I'll  hear  more  of  this  some  other  day,*  he  mur- 
mnred,  after  a  short  pause.  '  It's  all  terrible,  terrible  I 
Meanwhile,  show  her  in.     I  should  Uke  to  see  Olga.' 

lonS,  all  trepidation,  went  out  and  fetched  the  spy  in. 
Madame  Mireff,  without  a  word,  took  the  master's  hand 
in  hers  and  pressed  it  warmly.  Tears  stood  in  the  eyes 
of  both.  .  What  it  all  meant,  lonS  knew  not.  But  she 
eould  see  at  a  glance  both  were  deeply  affected.  And 
even  when  they  began  to  speak  she  couldn't  make  out  a 
word,  for  it  was  all  in  Bussian. 

*A  bloodvessel,  they  tell  me,  dear  friend,'  Madame 
whispered,  leaning  over  him. 

Pnnce  Borio  Brassoff  sighed. 

'  A  bloodvessel  1'  he  answered  with  intense  scorn.  '  If 
that  were  all,  Olga,  it  could  soon  be  mended.  No  ;  ruin 
—betrayal — treason — despair — my  life-work  spoilt,  my 
dearest  plans  shattered  I' 

Olga  MirefiF  clasped  her  hands  in  silent  awe  and  alarm. 

*  Not  Sergius  Selistoffs  son  1'  she  cried. 
The  despairing  Nihilist  gave  a  nod  of  assent. 

*  Tee,  Sergius  SelistofTe  son,'  he  answered.  '  In  love 
with  a  woman.' 

*  And  he  refuses  to  go  ?'  Madame  asked  warmly. 

'  And  he  refuses  to  go,'  Burio  BrassoJQf  repeated  in  a 
dreamy  voice.  '  He  refuses  to  go.  Says  his  conscience 
prevents  him.' 

*  Has  he  told  her  V  Madame  gasped  out 

*  I  don't  know.  She  swears  not.  And  I  think  sbe 
■peaks  the  truth.  ThaVi  she  that  stands  thore  by  the 
bed  beside  yen.' 

18 


f| 


.  i 


r<i<.  .1 


m 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


I    « 


Madame  took  a  good  stare  at  her.  lond  knew  they 
were  talking  of  her,  though  she  couldn't  make  out  the 
words,  and  she  winced  internally.  But  she  smiled  none 
the  less  her  sunny  Greek  sraile,  and  tried  to  seem  as  un- 
concerned as  if  they  were  discussing  the  weather. 

*  A  fine  girl,'  Madame  murmured,  after  surveying  her 
close.  '  Free,  bold,  Slavonic.  The  girl  who  crossed 
Morocco  on  horseback  like  a  man.  Greek,  if  I  recollect. 
The  right  sort,  too.  Fearless,  unconventional,  indepen- 
dent, Hellenic.  Good  stuff  for  our  work.  She  ought  to 
be  one  of  us.' 

'  She  has  ruined  us  1'  Boric  Brassoff  cried.  '  And  yet, 
for  Owen's  sake — Olga,  it  sounds  strange — I  tell  you,  I 
love  her.* 

*  Couldn't  we  win  her  over?*  Madame  faltered. 
The  chief  shook  his  head. 

'  No,  impossible,'  he  replied.  '  Olga,  all  that's  a  closed 
book  for  ever.  I'm  a  ruin,  a  wreck ;  my  life  is  out  from 
under  me.  I've  no  heart  to  begin  again.  I  risked  all  on 
one  throw,  and  the  dice  have  gone  against  me.  .  .  . 
Bussia  isn't  lost.  She  will  yet  be  frea  But  others  wiU 
free  her,  not  I.     My  work  is  finished.' 

He  threw  his  head  back  on  the  pillow.  He  was 
deadly  pale  now.  lonS  saw  something  had  moved  him 
deeply.  She  lifted  his  head  without  a  word,  and  gave 
him  some  brandy.  It  seemed  to  revive  him.  He  held 
her  hand  and  pressed  it.  Madame  Mireff  took  the  other. 
He  pressed  hers  too  in  retui  q. 

'  Dear  Olga  t  dear  lonS  I'  he  murmured  aloud,  in 
English. 

And  BO  they  three  remained  there  together  for  half  an 
hour  upon  the  bed,  hand-in-hand,  in  mute  sympathy— 
lond  and  the  '  dreadful  man,'  the  Bussian  spy  and  the 
ebief  of  the  Nihilistic 


TBB  KUIM  OF  TH9  ORDBR 


I9S 


CHAPTEB  XXX. 


VHB  BULB  OF  THE   ORDER 


Fob  the  rest  of  that  week,  Olga  Mireff  came  daily  and 
watched  by  Buric  BrassofTs  bedside.  As  usual,  her 
natural  charm  of  manner  and  her  magnetic  attractiveness 
soon  succeeded  in  overcoming  all  suspicious  fears  on  the 
part  of  the  little  community. 

Madame  grew  quite  fond  of  lond,  and  lonS  of  her ; 
while  Saoha,  when  once  she  had  discovered  the  Czar's 
Bpy  was  a  friend  in  disguise,  could  have  done  anything 
for  her  as  one  of  '  dear  Mr.  Hay  ward's '  admirers. 
Before  the  end  of  the  week,  though  no  secrets  were  told, 
no  criminating  word  overtly  spoken  between  them^  they 
had  all  arrived  at  a  tacit  understanding  with  one  another 
as  to  their  common  acquaintance.    Madame  Mireff  in 

f  articular  felt  dimly  in  har  own  heart  that  Sacha  and 
onfi  were  fully  aware  of  Mr.  Hayward's  being  a  Eussian 
Nihilist,  though  they  didn't  specifically  identify  him  with 
Prince  Euric  Brassoff.  And  as  lonS  was  always  kindness 
itself  to  Madame,  now  she  knew  her  for  one  of  Mr.  Hay- 
ward's  friends,  and  vaguely  suspected  her  of  being  a 
Nihilist  too,  Madame  Mireff  got  on  with  her  as  she  always 
got  on  with  everybody,  after  the  first  flush  of  prejudice 
against '  the  Russian  spy '  had  had  time  to  wear  off,  and 
the  real  woman  had  asserted  herself  in  all  her  womanly 
intensity. 

As  for  Mr.  Hayward  and  lond,  they  had  had  things 
out,  too,  between  themselves  meanwhile.  And  lonS  had 
made  Mr.  Hayward  see  that  to  her,  at  least,  Owen  had 
never  betrayed  him.  She  told  that  unhappy  revolutionist 
everything ;  from  the  moment  when  she  first  said  to 
Owen  at  Ain-Essa,  'The  man's  a  Eussian!'  to  the 
moment  when,  on  the  summit  of  the  down  at  Moor  Hill, 
■he  blurted  out  her  intuitive  guess,  '  You've  promised 
that  horrid  Nihilist  man  to  blow  up  the  Czar  for  him.' 
She  made  it  all  quite  clear  to  him  how  Owen  at  first  had 
tried  to  avoid  her ;  how  pure  chance  had  thrown  them 
together  again,  the  Moond  night  at  Beni-Mengella ;  how 


KJ6 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


she  herself  had  made  the  arrangement  to  go  imd  lirfl 
with  Sacha;  how  Owen  had  fought  against  his  love, 
while  she,  recognising  it,  had  brought  her  woman's  wits 
to  fight  on  its  side  against  him  ;  and  how  she  had  con- 
quered in  the  end,  only  by  surprising  and  telling  out  his 
secret.  All  this  lone  told,  as  only  lone  could  tell  it,  with 
perfect  girlish  modesty  and  perfect  womanly  frankness ; 
30  that  Mr.  Hay  ward  at  the  end  conldn't  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  say  a  word  of  reproach  or  of  anger  against  her. 

'  Tout  savoir,'  says  the  wise  French  proverb,  '  c'est 
tout  pardonner.'  And  if  Mr.  Hayward  didn't  quite  for- 
give all — that  were  too  much  to  ask — at  least  he  under- 
stood it  and  in  great  part  condoned  it. 

One  day  towards  the  end  of  the  week,  however,  a  ring 
came  at  the  bell,  and  lonS  went  out  to  the  door  to 
answer  it. 

'  Telegram  for  Madame  Mireff,'  the  boy  said.  '  Sent 
on  from  the  Mettropoal.' 

lone  carried  it  in.  Madame  was  seated  by  Mr.  Hay- 
ward's  bedside,  with  that  rapt  expression  of  joy  lonA 
had  often  noted  on  her  speaking  features.  It  seemed  to 
do  her  good  just  to  be  near  Burio  Brasso£f — just  to  hold 
his  thin  hand,  just  to  watch  his  sad  countenance.  She 
tore  it  open  carelessly. 

'  From  Lord  Caistor,  no  doubt,'  she  said.  '  He's  so 
anxious  for  me  to  go  down  for  their  house-party  to  bl.3T- 
ringham.' 

But  even  as  she  read  it,  a  dark  shade  passed  over  hex* 
face. 

'  It's  hard  for  a  man  to  serve  two  masters,'  she  said  in 
Russian,  as  she  passed  it  across  with  a  sigh  to  Burio 
Brassoff.     '  How  much  harder,  then,  for  a  woman  *' 

The  invalid  took  it  and  read  in  French : 

'  Beturn  at  once  to  Petersburg.  Most  important  newf. 
Can't  trust  post.     No  delay. — Alexis  Selistoff.' 

He  drew  a  deep  sigh. 

'  You  must  go,  Olga,'  he  said  in  Bussian.  '  This  may 
bode  ill  for  the  Cause.  We  must  know  what  it  means, 
at  any  rate.  Though  it's  hard,  very  hard.  I'd  give  any- 
thing to  have,  you  with  me  in  thia  my  hour  of  d^knMt.' 


THB  RUUt  OP  TBB  OUDBK 


197 


Madame  Mire£F  rose  at  once,  and  sent  Blackbird  ont 
for  a  Continental  Brad<^haw,  In  half  an  hour's  time  she 
was  packing  her  things  in  her  own  room  at  the  M6tropole. 
And  by  eight  that  night  she  was  at  Charing  Cross,  regis- 
tering her  luggage  through  vid  Ostend,  Berlin,  and 
Eydtkuhnen  to  St.  Petersburg. 

*  Madame  Mireff — the  Russian  spy,*  passengers  whis- 
pered to  one  another,  nudging  mysteriously  as  she 
passed.  '  Eecalled  poste-haste  to  headquarters,  no  doubt. 
Heard  at  the  Metropole  to-day  she  was  sent  for  by  the 
Czar  at  a  moment's  notice.* 

Not  that  Madame  Mireff  herself  had  ever  said  so. 
The  unaccredited  agent  disclaimed  officialdom  even  more 
strenuously  than  she  would  have  disclaimed  the  faintest 
suggestion  of  Nihilism.  But  when  once  you've  given  a 
lady  the  character  of  a  Bussian  political  agent,  she  can't 
move  hand  or  foot  without  her  reasons  being  suspected. 
She  can't  call  on  a  friend  without  everybody's  discovering 
in  it  some  deep  and  insidious  political  import.  Madame 
Mireff  had  left  hurriedly  for  Russia  that  day;  so  the 
inference  was,  the  Czar  had  need  of  her. 

It  was  a  cold  journey,  that  bitter  January  weather, 
with  the  snow  lying  thick  on  the  ground  all  through  those 
Tast  level  flats  of  the  Baltic  coast,  past  Berlin,  and 
Marienburg,  and  Eydtkuhnen,  to  St.  Petersburg.  But 
Madame  Mireff  travelled  on,  day  and  night,  unwearied, 
in  spite  of  frost  and  snow,  never  resting  for  a  moment  till 
she  reached  her  own  house  in  the  Russian  capital.  And 
she  hadn't  been  home  half  an  hour  to  warm  herself  be- 
fore  she  drove  round  in  her  sleigh  to  the  Third  Section, 
where,  still  chilled  from  her  journey,  she  was  ushered  up 
at  once  by  an  obsequious  orderly  into  General  Selistoff's 
cabinet. 

The  General  shook  hands  with  her  warmly,  almost 
affectionately. 

'  H6  bien,  Madame,'  he  said,  sitting  down  again,  and 
twirling  his  gray  moustache  between  one  bronzed  finger 
and  thumb  ;  '  how  about  Ruric  Brassoff?' 

Madame  repressed  a  nascent  start  with  no  small  effort. 
It  was  a  C'itical  moment.  Was  there  some  traitor  in  the 
camp?     Had  Owen  let  slip  some  unguarded  phrase? 


11 


I 

I 


198 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


Had  Ton  5— but  no.  She  recovered  her  self -possession 
almost  before  she  had  lost  it.  This  was  a  life  and  death 
matter  for  her,  for  Bussia,  and  for  Buric  Brassoft 

<  Not  a  trace  of  him/  she  answered  stoutly,  in  her  most 
matter-of-fact  tone.  *Not  a  sign  of  him  anywhere. 
Though  I've  hunted  high  and  low,  I  can  learn  nothing  of 
his  movements.  I've  mixed  much  with  young  men  in 
England — hot-headed  Badical  young  men — Cunninghame 
Graham  and  his  kind — the  sort  of  young  firebrands  who 
know  Stepniak  and  Lavroff  and  Krapotkine  and  their 
like,  and  the  openly  avowed  Nihilists  of  London  or  Paris 
— little  idiots  who  talk  foolishly,  publicly,  freely  of  the 
most  secret  designs;  and  many  of  them  have  confided  in 
me ;  but  I  can't  get  hold  of  anything  solid  or  definite 
about  the  creature  Brassoft  He's  in  England,  that's  all 
I  know,  for  letters  arrive  from  him,  and  answers  come 
within  one  post.  But  more  than  that,  not  a  soul  I  meet 
can  tell  me.  He  must  live  underground,  like  a  mole, 
they  say,  for  no  one  ever  sees  him.' 

General  Selistoff  eyed  her  hard.  She  quailed  before  his 
•outiny. 

'  Yes,  he's  in  England,'  the  bureaucrat  answered ; 
'  that's  certain  ;  and  it's  curious,  chSre  dame,  that  with 
your  intimate  opportunities  of  knowing  English  interiors 
you  can't  track  him  down.  It  ought  to  be  possible. 
But  there,  that  country  has  no  police ;  its  Stat  civil  is  the 
most  backward  in  Europe.  One  thing  alone  we  know, 
he  still  lives,  he  still  writes,  he  still  pulls  all  the  wires, 
he  still  directs  everything.' 

'  It's  generally  believed,'  Madame  went  on,  growing 
less  nervous  as  she  proceeded, '  that  he's  one  of  the  group 
who  compile  those  disgraceful  and  slanderous  articles 
against  Bussia  in  the  Fortnightly  Beview,  signed  E.  B. 
Lanin.  There's  no  such  person,  of  course;  Lanin's  a 
mere  pseudonym  ;  and  it  covers,  like  charity,  a  multitude 
of  writers.  You  must  have  noticed  the  articles,  no  doubt; 
your  attention  would  be  call  3d  to  them  by  the  official 
censors.' 

General  Selistoff  nodded,  and  drummed  with  one  hand 
on  the  desk  before  him. 

*  I've  seen  them,'  he  made  answer.    *  Most  abominabls 


TBB  RUtB  OP  THE  ORDER 


•spotareiL  Y/e  blacked  them  all  oat  in  every  copy  that 
entered  the  oountry.  And  the  worst  of  it  all  is,  every 
word  of  it  was  true,  too.  The  reptiles  wrote  with  perfect 
knowledge,  and  with  studied  coolness  and  moderation  of 
tone.  I  suspected  BrassofTs  hands  in  more  than  one  of 
the  vile  libels.  There  were  facts  in  them  that  could 
hardly  have  come  from  anyone  else  than  him.  But  this 
is  pure  guess-work ;  why  haven't  you  found  out  t  You 
know  the  editor?' 

Madame  Mireff  smiled  a  most  diplomatic  smile. 

*  Well,  yes,'  she  said, '  I  know  him ;  but  not  from  him. 
Oh,  impossible!  No  use  trying  thera  Incorruptible! 
Inooircptible  I' 

And  she  went  on  to  detail  at  full  length  all  the  houses 
■he  had  visited,  all  the  inquiries  she  had  made,  all  the 
wiles  she  had  used,  and  how  fruitless,  after  all,  had  been 
her  diligent  search  after  Euric  Brassoff. 

'WeU,  Ijut  those  children?'  the  General  asked  after 
awhile,  with  an  ugly  scowl  on  his  face.  '  Those  children 
I  asked  you  to  track  down,  you  remember?  My  un- 
worthy brother's  son  and  daughter?  How  have  you 
done  in  the  search  for  them  ?' 

*  Equally  vp/ln,'  Madame  answered.  *Well  hidden 
away  from  sight.  Not »  trace  to  be  found  of  them  any- 
wheie  in  England.' 

General  Selistofif  leaned  back  in  his  swinging  chair, 
puckered  his  brows,  and  looked  sternly  at  her. 

*But  there  is  in  Bussia,'  he  said,  crossing  his  arms, 
with  an  air  of  savage  triumph ;  '  and  that's  what  I  Bent 
for  you  all  the  wav  to  Petersburg  for.' 

Madame*B  heart  sank  within  her  in  an  agony  of  terror. 
What  on  earth  could  this  forebode?  Had  he  tracked 
them  himself?  Must  she  be  driven  after  all  to  aid  him 
in  hunting  down  Owen  and  Sacha  ? 

For  even  if  Owen  was  a  traitor  to  the  Cause,  he  was 
Buric  Brassoffs  friend;  and  as  to  Sacha,  Olga  Mireff 
had  learned  by  now  to  love  her  dearly. 

The  General  turned  to  a  pigeon-hole  in  the  desk  by 
hlB  Bide,  and  drew  out  a  bundle  of  papers  neatly  bound 
and  docketed. 

'  See  here/  he  began  slowly.      We  arrested  last  week, 


■I 


i 

m 

m 

i 

4 


m 


f 


Mi  ff»imtL  sinALnn  ordb&s 

in  a  raspeoted  house  at  EiefF,  one  Basil  Ossinsky,  »  ehiol 
of  the  propaganda  among  the  students  of  the  University. 
We  had  known  him  fol  long  as  a  most  doubtful  character 
In  his  papers  we  found  a  letter  from  London,  in  cipher, 
as  usual,  which  I'll  trouble  you  to  look  at.  You  will  note 
at  once,  as  you  know  the  man's  signature,  that  it's  in 
Rurio  BrassofFs  handwriting.' 

Madame  took  the  inculpated  document,  and  with 
difficulty  avoided  a  gasp  of  surprise — for  she  read  it  at 
a  glance — and  it  would  have  been  death  to  her,  or,  whal 
was  worse  than  death,  detection,  if  she  had  let  Alexii 
Selisto£f  see  she  could  read  at  sight  the  NihiUst  cipher. 

The  General  fished  out  a  few  more  letters  from  hit 
desk  in  the  same  well-known  hand. 

'  Now,  the  point  of  all  these,'  he  said,  fingering  them 
lovingly,  •  is  simply  this :  They  show — what  I  could 
hardly  have  otherwise  believed — that  it's  that  incarnate 
devil,  Brassoff  himself,  who  has  taken  charge  of  my  own 
brother's  son  and  daughter,  these  degenerate  SelistofFs. 
They  further  show  that  hw's  training  that  young  fiend, 
in  England  or  elsewhere,  for  some  diabolical  scheme,  not 
fully  cUsolosed,  against  the  life  and  throne  of  our  beloved 
Emperor.  They  show  that  he  has  long  dravm  upon  his 
ignorant  or  venomous  fellow-conspirators  in  Russia  for 
funds  to  carry  out  this  abominable  project  They  show 
that  the  scheme  of  the  proposed  crime  was  known  in  full 
detail  to  no  more  than  four  persons — Buric  Brassoff  him- 
self, Basil  Ossinsky,  and  two  others,  unnamed,  who  are 
indicated,  like  the  rest  of  the  crew,  by  numbers  only. 
But  the  devil  of  it  all  is,  we've  got  the  general  idea  of  the 
scheme  alone  ;  for  the  assumed  name  and  present  address 
of  young  Sehstoff,  upon  which  all  depends,  was  separately 
enclosed  in  a  sealed  envelope,  not  to  be  opened  on  any 
account  except  on  the  occurrence  of  a  certain  contingency; 
and  this  envelope,  unfortunately,  the  man  has  managed 
to  conceal ;  or,  indeed,  as  we  inoline  to  bdieve,  he  hM 
actually  swallowed  it,' 

Madame  Mireff  breathed  hard. 

'  And  what  was  that  contingeney  T  ihe  Mked,  !■ 
almost  tremulou   trepidation. 

*W1^,  it  WM  to  be  opened  in  oMe  the  young  erimina^ 


THB  RULH  OP  THB  ORDBft 


Serf^ns  Selistoff,  after  having  been  trained  for  the  parpoto 
on  Nihilist  money,  and  inspired  to  the  utmost  by  NihilisI 
("i  iends,  should  sulTer  in  the  end  from  qualms  of  conscience 
— sliould  refuse  at  the  last  moment  to  carry  out  the  terms 
of  his  infamous  bargain.  Supposing  that  contingency  to 
occur,  it  became  the  sworn  duty  of  the  three  confidants 
of  Burio  BrassofTs  secret  to  break  the  sealed  envelopes 
and  disclose  Sergius  SelistofiTs  assumed  name  and  identity. 
And  they  were  further  bound  by  a  solemn  oath,  all  three 
of  them  alike,  with  Buric  Brassoff  as  well,  and  the  whole 
conspiracy  at  their  backs,  to  hound  down  that  young 
rascal  to  his  death,  by  fire,  water,  or  dyaamite,  and  sever 
to  rest  for  a  moment  till  they  or  he  were  dead,  in  th« 
effort  to  punish  him  for  his  breach  of  discipline.' 

Madame  I\Iire£f's  blood  ran  cold. 

'  I  see,'  she  said  faintly.  '  They're  dreadful  people, 
these  Nihilists.  No  faith,  no  honour.  The  sorl  of 
things  they  do  really  frighten  and  appal  one.' 

General  Selistoff  leaned  back  and  twirled  his  gray 
moustache  with  those  bronzed  fingers  once  more.  As  a 
military  martinet,  he  almost  sympathized  himself  with 
this  bloodthirsty  regulation. 

'  Well,  in  politics,'  he  said  slowly, '  we  can  none  of  as 
afford  to  be  over  particular  about  the  choice  of  our  means. 
Politics,  as  I've  often  said,  have  a  morality  of  their  own. 
I  don't  blame  people  for  trying  to  enforce  order  in  their 
own  ranks.  It's  just  what  we  do  ourselves.  ...  I  shan't 
mind  though,  if  only  we  can  catch  this  young  Sergius 
Selistoff.  ...  As  a  Bussian  subject,  we  ought  to  be  able 
to  get  hold  of  him  somehow.  Extradition,  no  doubt,  on 
a  charge  of  common  conspiracy,  would  succeed  in  doing 
it.  It's  a  jerj  good  clue.  We  most  follow  it  op  in- 
cessantly.' 


m 


iff 


CHAPTER  XXXI, 

■BADOWS  OF  OOMINQ  BVCb. 

Im  England,  meanwhile,  Mr.  Hayward  grew  slowly  better. 
In  spite  of  the  great  weight  on  his  mind — a  weight  of 
despair  and  of   doubt  for  the  future  which  he  didn't 


^^\: 


i  '^ 


'•\ 


•09 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


attempt  to  conccnl — his  health  improved  by  degrees  under 
Sacha's  and  Tone's  carevul  nursing.  Blackbird,  indeed, 
sometimes  soothed  him  with  congenial  pessimism.  There 
were  no  iresh  green  laurel-leaves  now  for  her  to  pursue 
her  chemical  investigations  upon ;  so  the  poor  child  turned 
her  energies  (such  as  they  were)  to  the  equally  congenial 
task  of  suggesting  to  Mr.  Hayward  the  immense  advant- 
ages of  annihilation  over  continued  existence. 

*  If  only  you  could  die,*  she  said  to  him  more  than 
once,  'how  happy  you  would  be.  And  how  happy  I 
would  be  if  only  I  could  go  with  you.* 

Notwithstanding  these  gloomy  vaticinations,  however, 
Mr.  Hayward,  strange  to  say,  got  gradually  better.  He 
was  even  carried  out  into  the  drawing-room,  where  Black- 
bird played  and  sang  to  him  sweet  songs  of  despair,  and 
where  Trevor  Gardener  and  Henley  Stokes  were  in  time 
permitted  to  pay  cheir  respects  to  the  mysterious  stranger. 
Day  by  day  his  strength  returned,  though  his  cheeks  were 
now  pale  and  his  eyes  horribly  sunken.  It  was  clear  the 
disappointment  had  shaken  the  foundations  of  the  man's 
very  being,  both  bodily  and  spiritual.  His  aim  in  life 
was  gone.  He  ha<I  nothing  to  do  now  but  brood  over  his 
lost  hopes,  and  face  the  problem  of  the  future  for  Owen 
Gazalet. 

How  serious  that  problem  was  he  alone  had  any  con- 
ception. He  had  woven  a  cunning  plot  against  Owen's 
life,  and  now  that  he  loved  him  well  and  fain  would  SRve 
him,  why,  the  plot  would  go  on  by  itself  in  spite  of  him. 

As  he  grew  stronger  he  seemed  to  lean  more  and  more 
every  day  for  support  on  Ion6  Dracopoli.  *  Dear  lon^,* 
he  called  her;  and  lone  herself,  now  that  her  native 
charm  had  conquered  so  much  initial  prejudice  and  such 
obviou£  dibinclination,  was  ready  to  his  beck  and  call 
whenever  he  wanted  to  move  his  chair,  or  to  draw  nearer 
the  fire,  or  to  sit  in  the  rare  winter  sun,  or  to  lie  down  at 
full  length  on  the  sofa  by  the  mantel-piece.  She  could 
read  to  him,  too,  in  French  or  German ;  and  Mr.  Hay- 
ward, who,  lil«'  moat  other  Continentals,  cared  little  for 
English  books,  ^as  soothed  by  her  correct  accent  and  her 
easy,  fluent  utterance.  Often  he  grasped  her  hand  fondly 
M  ihe  led  him  into  his  room  at  nights,  and,  loaulng  otm 


SHADOWS  OP  COMING  EVIL 


*>3 


'  -a 


lo  kiss  it  with  his  stately  old-fashioned  courtesy,  he 
murmured  more  than  once,  with  a  very  deep-drawn  sigh : 

*  Ah,  lone,  if  ever  our  Owen  could  have  married  at  all, 
you're  just  the  sort  of  girl  I  should  have  wished  him  to 
marry.  ...  If  only  he'd  been  mine  and  his  own,  that  is 
to  say ;  if  only  he'd  been  mine  and  his  own — not  Bussia's !' 

lond  noticed,  however,  that  he  always  spoke  thus  in 
the  past  tense,  as  of  set  purpose,  as  if  Owen's  life  and 
his  own  had  been  cut  short  abruptly. 

At  last  he  was  convalescent,  as  much  as  ewer  he  could 
hope  to  be,  he  said  bitterly  to  lonS,  for  he  never  expected 
to  be  happy  or  bright  again  now ;  all  that  was  done  with, 
all  that  was  out  from  under  him.  But  he  was  well 
enough,  anyhow,  to  move,  and  go  off  on  his  own  account. 
And  go  off  he  would,  alone ;  for  he  had  to  make  new 
plans,  as  things  stood  at  present — serious  plans,  difficult 
plans — for  Owen's  future. 

And  Owen's  future,  indeed,  had  been  most  seriously 
upset ;  for  the  appointment  had  come  from  Lord  Caistor, 
as  Madame  Mireff  anticipated,  and  Owen,  feeling  it  im- 
possible  now  ever  to  take  it  up,  had  promptly  replied  by 
refusing  it  and  withdrawing  his  name  from  the  list  of 
candidates  for  the  diplomatic  service.  Another  man  had 
been  substituted  for  him,  so  that  chance  was  gone  for 
ever;  indeed,  Owen  knew  he  must  now  earn  his  own 
livelihood  somehow  in  a  far  humbler  sphere.  Luxuries 
like  the  Foreign  Office  posts  were  no  longer  for  him.  It 
was  a  question  henceforth  of  eighty  pounds  a  year  and  a 
humble  clerkship.  So  he  was  looking  about,  vaguely,  for 
something  to  do,  though  the  awful  weight  of  the  despair 
he  had  brought  on  his  venerated  friend  bowed  him  down 
to  the  very  ground  with  pain  and  sorrow. 

His  plans  were  out  short,  however,  by  a  mysterious 
occurrence. 

One  morning  suddenly,  as  they  sat  in  the  kitchen 
together  for  company,  Sacha  engaged  in  sketching  Mr. 
Hayward's  profile,  and  lond  bustling  about  with  the 
chicken  for  dinner,  Mr  Hayward  looked  up,  as  with  an 
inspiration,  and  said  in  a  very  quiet  tone  : 

'  I  feel  much  better  to-day.  I  think  this  afternoon  I 
■hall  go  off  to  the  oountry.' 


li; 


i 

''ill" 


i]\ 


m 


UNDER  SEALED  ORD  RRS 


Both  Sacha  and  lon^  gave  a  quick  start  of  astonish- 

mont.  .  J      .  r\u 

•  To  the  country,  Mr.  Hay  ward  I*  lone  cried.  UH, 
what  for,  you  dear  old  thing  ?  Just  at  the  very  minute, 
too,  we  were  beginning  to  think  we  were  really  some  kind 
of  use  and  comfort  to  you.' 

Mr.  Hay  ward  smiled  sadly. 

•  Perhaps  I'm  getting  too  fond  of  you  aU,'  he  answered, 
with  a  faint  effort  at  lightness.  But  it  was  a  lightness  of 
a  grave  and  very  pensive  sort.  'Perhaps  I'm  beginning 
to  regret  my  bachelorhood  and  my  Ion  eliness.  Perhaps 
it  makes  me  think  I've  done  wrong,  for  my  own  happi- 
ness, i<^  have  remained  celibate  as  I  did,  for  an  abstract 

Erinciple's  sake,  instead  of  surrounding  myself  with 
:iends,  Tvife,  children,  family — and  bringing  up  two  dear 
daughiero  like  you  and  Sacha.' 

'  No,  no/  Sacha  said  quietly,  with  that  deep  Slavonic 
enthusiasm  of  hera  '  You  chose  the  better  part,  Mr. 
Hayward,  and  it  shall  not  be  taken  away  from  you. 
Though  your  plans  have  failed,  you  have  at  least  the 
glory  and  the  recompense  of  knowing  you  have  lived  and 
Bu£fered  for  them.' 

long  felt  in  her  heart  the  couldn't  have  spoken  like 
that;  but  she  did  what  she  could.  She  took  the  nn- 
happy  man's  hand  in  her  own,  and  stroked  it  tenderly, 
as  she  said,  with  almost  filial  affection  : 

<  But  you  won't  go  away  from  us  bo  suddenly,  or  lo 
■oon,  dear  Mr.  Hayward  i' 

Mr.  Hayward  laid  one  caressing  palm  on  the  crisp 
chestnut  curls.  Olga  MirefF  would  have  given  her  right 
hand  for  that  fatherly  caress. 

'  Tes,  niy  child,'  he  said  softly,  in  a  tone  of  infinite 
regret.  '  I've  many  things  to  arrange.  I  must  think  out 
a  new  life  for  myself — and  Owen.' 

*  Why  not  think  it  out  here  ?'  lond  asked  boldly. 
Mr.  Hayward  shook  his  head. 

*  You  don't  understand  these  things,  dear  daughterkin,' 
he  answered,  still  fondling  those  soft  curls,  but  with  a 
▼ery  pained  look.  '  Impossible,  impossible.  I  must  go 
down  into  the  country  for  a  while.  Best — peace — change 
— leisure.    I  must  tear  myself  away  from  yon  all    I 


In 


SHADOWS  OP  COMING  EVII, 


90S 


must  pnt  space  between  us.  Here,  with  you  by  my 
Bide,  [  can't  make  up  my  mind  to  what  is,  after  all 
inevitable.' 

A  vague  foreboding  of  evil  seized  long's  souL  A  lump 
rose  in  her  throat.  Till  that  moment  she  had  supposed 
all  was  really  over.  The  crisis  was  past ;  Owen  had  told 
him  the  worst ;  Mr.  Hayward  had  had  his  bad  half-hour 
by  himself,  and  had  happily  outlived  it.  They  might 
begin  to  think  by  this  time  they  had  turned  the  corner. 
They  might  begin  to  hope  at  last  for  a  prosperous  voyage 
in  quieter  waters. 

But  now,  this  mysterious  remark  of  Mr.  Hayward's  set 
lone  trembling.  Profound  anxiety  seized  her.  What  on 
earth  could  it  be  that  he  couldn't  bring  himself  to  do 
while  she  and  Sacha  were  beside  him?  Was  some 
terrible  penalty  attached,  then,  to  Owen's  defection? 
Could  these  Nihilists  mean — but  no  1  that  dear,  gentle  old 
man  could  never  dream  of  such  wickedness  1  He  loved 
Owen  so  much — you  could  see  that  at  a  glance.  He  was 
disappointed,  crushed,  broken,  but  in  no  way  angry. 

Indeed,  as  lonS  had  noticed  from  the  first  moment  to 
the  last,  since  he  came  to  the  flat,  Mr.  Hayward's  manner 
to  Owen  had  been  tenderly  affectionate.  No  father  could 
have  spoken  with  more  gentleness  and  love  to  an  erring 
child ;  no  mother  could  have  borne  a  cruel  disappoint- 
ment more  bravely  or  more  patiently. 

That  very  afternoon,  however,  true  to  his  word,  Mr. 
Hayward  went  away  without  further  warning.  lond 
helped  him  pack  his  portmanteau.  As  he  talked  to  her 
meanwhile,  the  vague  presentiment  of  coming  evil  in  the 
girl's  frightened  soul  grew  deeper  and  deeper.  Gradually 
it  dawned  upon  her  that  their  troubles,  far  from  being 
finished,  were  hardly  half-way  through.  Mr.  Hayward's 
eurious  reticence  struck  terror  even  into  that  joyous  and 
exuberant  nature.  Where  would  he  stay  ?  Well,  as  yet, 
he  said,  he  really  didn't  know.  He  was  going  away 
somewhere — in  the  counti-y — indefinite.  He  must  look 
about  for  %  place  that  would  suit  his  purpose.  What 
purpose?  Ah,  so  far,  he  could  hardly  say.  It  must 
depend  upon  chance,  upon  suggestion,  upon  civcum- 
stances.     But  when  his  portmanteau  was  packed,  h« 


M 


m 


t'M 


I 


I 

41 


I' 


T'  i-'       I 

m 


306 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


I*  'I 


Befzed  lond's  hand  in  a  sort  of  transport,  and  pressed  II 
hard  between  his  own. 

'  My  child  I'  he  cried  in  a  broken  voice,  giving  way  all  at 
once,  '  oh,  my  child,  my  dear  daughter,  I  thank  you  sd 
much  for  your  goodness,  your  sympathy  I  You've  been 
kind  to  a  wounded  souL  You've  been  tender  to  a  bruised 
reed.  Your  smile  has  been  sunshine  to  me  in  the  wreck 
of  my  life,  my  hopes,  my  day-dream.  How  can  I  repay 
you  thus  ?  It  goes  to  my  heart  to  think  I  must  requite 
you  so  cruelly.' 

The  lump  rose  in  Tone's  throat  once  mora  What  on 
earth  could  he  mean  by  it  ? 

'  Bequite  mc  ?  How  ?  Why  ?'  she  asked  with  a  terrible 
sinking. 

Mr.  Hayward's  voice  quivered. 

'  Never  mind,  dear  daughter,'  he  said,  and  he  kissed 
her  white  forehead.  •  I've  loved  Owen  well,  and  you  too, 
very  dearly — at  first  for  Owen's  sake,  but  now  for  your 
own  also,  and  for  your  loving  kindness.  But  I  have  no 
choice  in  this  affair.  I'm  not  my  own  master.  Others 
are  more  bound  to  it  than  even  I.  .  .  .  I'll  spare  him  all 
I  can.  .  .  .  I'll  try  to  make  it  easy  for  him.' 

In  some  dim,  despairing  way  lonS  half  guessed  what  he 
meant. 

'  Then  it's  noc  all  over  yet  ?'  she  cried,  drawing  back 
with  a  look  of  horror. 

'All  overt'  the  Nihilist  chief  answered  in  a  tone  of 
the  utmost  despair.  '  All  over,  my  dearest  daughter  ? 
Oh,  you  can't  mean  that  1    Why  it's  only  beginning  1' 

And  seizing  her  plump  face  between  his  two  handa 
and  bending  down  to  kiss  her  lips  with  one  fervent  kiss, 
he  rushed  oat  wildly  into  the  hall,  and  downstairs  to 
the  hansom,  not  even  daring  to  say  good-bye  to  Owen  and 
Sacha. 

lond  burst  into  tears  and  hurried  kaok  to  her  own  bed* 
room 


OOOD-BTlf 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 


GOOD-BTE. 

After  Mr.  Hay  ward's  hurried  departure,  a  period  of 
dulness  brooded  over  the  flat.  The  old  excitament  of  bis 
ilhiess  was  over  for  the  moment ;  and  the  new  excice- 
ment,  at  which  he  had  hinted  so  strangely  and  myste- 
riously to  lone,  hadn't  yet  come  on.  So  the  members  of 
the  phalanstery  mooned  listlessly  about  at  their  daily 
work.  Sacha  painted  without  spirit ;  Blackbird  com- 
posed without  inspiration  ;  lonS  mixed  puddings  without 
a  touch  of  the  divine  afflatus  of  heaven-born  cookery. 
She  hardly  even  dared  to  tell  Owen  himself  what  Mr. 
Hay  ward  had  said  to  her.  She  locked  it  all  up,  terrified, 
in  the  recesses  of  her  bosom. 

Owen's  return  to  Moor  Hill,  too,  left  the  flat  all  the 
lonelier.  He  had  no  cause  to  remain  any  longer  in 
London  as  things  now  went ;  he  didn't  want  to  sponge  on 
Sacha  and  the  girls,  though,  to  be  sure,  the  alternative 
was  sponging  on  Aunt  Julia.  But  the  Red  Cottage  had 
always  seemed  to  him  so  much  of  a  home  that  he  felt 
less  like  an  intruder  there  than  in  Sacha's  chambers.  So 
to  Moor  Hill  he  retired  for  the  present,  deeply  engaged  in 
thought  as  to  where  to  turn  and  how  to  look  about  him 
at  this  crisis  for  an  honest  livelihood. 

The  difficulty,  indeed,  was  great  and  pressing.  Honest 
livelihoods  are  scarce  in  this  crowded  mart  of  ours.  And 
Owen  had  received  no  special  or  technical  training 
Having  no  University  degree,  the  sordid  shift  of  school- 
mastering — the  last  refuge  of  the  destitute — was  closed 
against  him.  He  waited  and  wondered  what  course  to 
pursue.  To  say  the  truth,  the  diplomatic  service  is  so 
gentlemanly  a.d  so  distinguished  a  pursuit,  that  pre* 
paration  for  it  seemed  to  have  shut  all  other  doors  against 

Ho  had  axit  long  to  wait,  however.  On  the  fourth 
morning  after  his  return  to  Moor  Hill  the  post  brought 
him  a  letter  in  a  well-known  handwriting.  Owen  tore  it 
•pan  with  impatience.    His  respect  and  veneration  for 


ii 


m 


1 


I 


% 


1 


«S  UKDBR  SEALED  ORDERS 

Mr.  Hayward  were  still  so  intense  that  he  read  his  gnar- 
dian's  letters  with  positive  reverence.  This  one  contaiu^d 
two  distinct  enclosures.  The  first  was  a  formal  note, 
with  nothing  compromising  in  it  of  any  sort,  dated  from 
a  little  village  up  the  river  beyond  Oxford,  and  inviting 
Owen  to  run  down  there  for  a  week's  rest  aud  a  little 
boating.  (Strange  season  for  boating,  Owen  thought  to 
himseH  parenthetically.)  They  could  talk  over  the  sub- 
ject of  his  future  together,  the  letter  said,  not  unkindly, 
after  the  change  of  plans  necessitated  by  his  determina- 
tion lA  on  any  terms  to  accept  the  Vienna  appoint- 
ment. 

The  second  note,  marked  *  Strictly  private/  was  of  a 
▼ery  different  tenoor : 

*  Mt  dbab  Ow2i:n, 

<  Both  as  your  guardian,  and  as  your  Chief,  I  ask 

Jrou — nay,  I  oider  you — to  come  down  here  at  once  to  the 
edgings  I  am  staying  ia  I  don't  attempt  to  conceal 
from  you  the  gravity  of  the  circumstances.  This  crisis 
is  a  serious  one.  Further  particulars  yon  will  learn 
from  me  immediately  on  your  arrival  Meanwhile,  show 
the  present  letter  to  nobody  on  any  account — above  all, 
not  to  lond.  Leave  the  other  one,  which  accompanies  it, 
and  which  is  sent  as  a  blind,  openly  displayed  on  your 
dtudy  table.  But  bring  this  with  you,  and  return  it  to  me 
here.  I  will  then  destroy  it  myself,  in  order  that  I  may 
make  sure  it  has  been  really  got  rid  of.  Oome  without 
fail  by  to-morrow  evening,  and  say  nothing  to  either  Miss 
Gazalet,  Sacha,  lond,  or  Blackbird  about  this  matter 
You  may  tell  your  aunt  casually,  if  you  like,  you'^-b 
coming  down  here  to  me ;  but  I  advise  you  not  to  go  near 
Victoria  Street  in  the  present  juncture.  My  boy,  my  boy, 
I  would  have  spared  you  if  I  could ;  but  I  osn't — oh,  I 
oan't  t    I'm  utterly  powerless. 

'  In  profound  distresi, 

*  Your  ever  affectionate  and  heartbroken  guardian, 

*Lambbbt  Hatwabd.' 

Owen  turned  the  letter  over  with  a  dismal  foreboding 
ti  evlL  Ha  knew  no  small  misfortune  could  make  Mr. 
Haywud  write  with  so  moeb  gravit^r  as  that    Soma 


GOOD-BYB 


«09 


terrible  necessity  must  be  spurring  him  oa.  Btill, 
Owen's  sense  of  disciplino  and  obedience  was  as  implicit 
as  ever — or  nearly  as  implicit.  Without  a  moment's 
delay  he  handed  Aunt  Julia  the  letter  intended  for  the 
public  eye. 

*  I  must  go  down  to  him,  of  course,*  he  said,  suppress- 
ing his  alarm.  *  He's  immensely  disappointed  about  my 
giving  up  Vienna — on  conscientious  grounds,  which  I 
haven't  fully  explained  to  you — and  I  must  go  at  once  and 
talk  things  over  in  full  with  him.  Poor  dear  Mr.  Hay- 
ward  1  He  looked  so  weak  and  ill  when  he  left  London 
the  other  day,  that  I  shall  be  glad  to  get  down  with  him 
and  see  if  he  wants  any  further  nursing.' 

Aunt  Julia  acquiesced.  That  phrase,  conscientious 
grounds,  had  a  mollifying  effect  upon  her.  It  was  a 
shibboleth,  indeed,  which  Aunt  JuUa  understood,  and 
which  appealed  to  her  as  an  outward  and  visible  sign  of 
the  very  best  principles. 

'  You  should  go,  dear,*  she  said — the  unwonted  '  dear' 
being  extorted  from  her  in  token  of  complete  approval. 
'  To  visit  the  poor  man  in  his  sickness — especially  after 
all  his  marked  kindness  to  you  in  the  past — is  a  Christian 
duty.' 

Owen  rose  from  the  breakfast-table  as  soon  as  he  was 
finished,  and  packed  his  portmanteau.  It  was  a  little 
difl&cult  to  do,  for  his  arm  was  sprained — he  had  *^in*t  it 
badly  two  days  before  in  one  of  his  athletic  bouoki ;  but 
he  went  through  with  the  task  manfully.  Then  he 
started  up  to  town  by  an  early  train,  though  he  didn't 
mean  to  reach  Oxfordshire  till  the  winter  evening. 

His  sense  of  discipline,  I  said,  was  almost — but  not 
quite — as  implicit  as  ever ;  for  when  he  got  to  Victoria  he 
didn't  drive  straight  across  town  to  Faddington,  as  one 
might  naturally  have  expected ;  he  put  his  portmanteau 
^n  the  cloak-room  instead,  and  walked  with  a  burning 
heart  down  the  street  to  Sacha's.  That  was  against 
orders,  to  be  sure ;  but  the  crisis  was  so  grave  I  In- 
stinctively Owen  felt  he  might  never  again  see  lonfi  in 
this  world  ;  and  he  couldn't  go  to  his  grave,  if  his  grava 
it  must  be,  without  saying  good-bye  to  her. 

Kven  BO,  however,  he  was  faithful  in  essentials  to  Mr. 

U 


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UNDER  SEAI^ED  ORDERS 


Ha3^ard.  He  saw  lond  in  the  drawing-room  for  ten 
minutes  alone  before  he  left  the  flat ;  but  he  never  told 
her  a  word  of  where  he  was  going,  or  what  Mr.  Hayward 
had  written  to  him.  He  merely  mentioned  offhand,  in  A 
very  careless  tone,  that  he  was  on  his  way  down  to 
Oxfordshire  to  stop  with  Mr.  Hayward  and  talk  things 
over.  Something  must  be  done,  of  course,  about  his 
future  life — something  about  the  repayment  of  all  the 
money  spent  upon  him. 

So  Owen,  faltering.  But  lond,  for  her  part,  read  the 
truth  more  deeply.  She  clung  about  him,  like  one  panic- 
stricken,  and  held  him  tight,  and  wept  over  him.  She 
knew  what  it  all  meant,  she  was  sure,  though  but  very 
vaguely.  Mr.  Hayward's  own  hints  had  told  her  far  too 
much. 

'  My  darling,'  she  cried  in  terror,  '  m.y  darling,  you  will 
never  come  back  to  me  I' 

Owen,  holding  his  wounded  right  arm  away  from  her, 
soothed  her  tenderly  with  his  left. 

*  lon^,'  he  said,  bending  low  to  her,  '  if  I  never  joma 
back,  I  shall  have  known  at  least  the  best  thing  on  this 
earth — to  love,  and  be  loved  by,  a  pure,  good  woman.  I 
shan't  have  missed  in  life  what  life  has  best  worth  giving.' 

The  poor  girl  clung  to  him  tighter  still. 

*  Oh,  how  cruel !'  she  cried  through  her  tears.  *  Think 
of  his  dragging  you  away  from  me  like  this.  And  I 
nursed  him  so  tenderly  I  Why,  Owen,  if  only  I'd  known 
it,  I'd  have  wished  him  dead  instead  a  thousand  times 
over.  If  I'd  imagined  he'd  be  so  wicked,  I  almost  think 
I  could  have  poisoned  him.' 

Owen  unwound  her  arms  gently. 

'  I  must  go  soon,'  he  said ;  '  I  mustn't  stop ;  and,  loni, 
for  my  sake,  you  won't  let  it  be  seen  yon  suspect  or  expect 
anything  ?' 

'  I  can't  help  it  i'  lond  exclaimed,  breaking  down  once 
more  and  sobbing.  '  How  can  I  help  it,  darling  ?  How 
can  I  help  it  ?  I  oan*t  let  you  go  I  I  must  tell  the  polioe  t 
I  must  rouse  all  the  world  1  I  must  oome  after  you  and 
prevent  him  I' 

Shame  mado  Owea'i  faM  red.  He  took  her  hand  jurj 
firmlj. 


GOOD.BYB 


SIX 


•  My  child/  he  said,  looking  reproachfully  at  her,  like  a 
Nihilist  that  he  was,  '  IVe  disobeyed  orders  in  coming  to 
see  you  at  all;  and  I  disobeyed  them  because  I  said 
to  myself,  "  I  can't  go  without  at  least  kissing  her  dear 
lips  once  more  and  saying  good-bye,  if  good-bye  it  must 
be,  to  her.  And  I'll  risk  the  disobedience,  because  I 
know  she's  brave,  and  she  won't  break  down,  or  stop  me, 
or  betray  me.  I'll  show  Mr.  Hayward  a  woman's  love 
doesn't  always  make  one  lose  all  sense  of  discipline.  1 11 
say  good-bye  to  her  like  a  man,  and  then  obey  my  orders." 
.  .  .  lone,  are  you  going  to  make  me  regret  my  de- 
cision ?' 

lone  stood  up  and  faced  him.  Those  cheeks,  once  so 
ruddy,  were  pale  as  a  ghost.  But  she  answered  him  firmly 
none  the  less : 

•  No,  Owen,  no.  Go,  if  you  feel  you  must.  But,  my 
darling,  my  darling,  if  you  never  come  back,  I  shall  die 
for  your  sake.     I  shall  kill  myself  and  follow  you  I' 

'  One  thing  more,'  Owen  added.  *  I  don't  know  what 
all  this  means.  I  go  under  sealed  orders ;  but  if  I  die — 
mind — not  a  word  of  suspiuion  against  Mr.  Hayward  I  I 
couldn't  bear  tJiat  I    Promise  me,  darhng,  promise  me  I' 

lone's  voice  was  choked  with  tears,  but,  as  well  as  she 
could,  she  sobbed  out : 

•  I  promise  you  I* 

Then  she  flung  herself  upon  his  neck,  like  a  thild  on 
its  mother's,  and  cried  long  and  silently. 


I  i 


14 


.'i'! 


vl 


CHAPTEB  XXXin. 

A    BTBAMaB    BUOaBSTIOir. 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  Owen  reached  Benlade,  the 
countrified  little  Oxfordshire  station  on  the  Great 
Western  line,  where  he  was  to  meet  Mr.  Hayward,  He 
had  telegraphed  on  by  what  train  he  was  coming ;  and 
as  he  descended  from  the  carriage,  somewhat  chilled 
from  his  ride,  a  familiar  hand  pressed  his  shoulder 
kindly. 


t.'A 


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UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


ir 


*  Hullo,  there  you  are !'  Mr.  Hayward  said,  trying  io 
grasp  his  right  hand.  *  Well,  I'm  glad,  at  any  rate,  you 
came  on  at  once.  It's  something  to  see  still,  my  boy, 
you  can  at  least  obey  orders  !' 

He  spoke  gravely,  but  affectionately,  with  a  tender 
ring  in  his  silvery  voice.  Owen  blushed  for  pure  shame 
as  he  thought  at  that  moment  of  his  gross  disobedience 
in  saying  good-bye  to  lone.  He  held  out  his  left  hand 
somewhat  awkwardly  in  return,  for  the  right  was  baa< 
daged. 

*  Why,  what's  this  ?'  Mr.  Hayward  asked,  looking  dowii 
it  it  in  surprise. 

And  Owen  answered,  not  without  a  pang  of  regret  at 
having  to  acknowledge  so  much  levity  at  so  grave  a 
moment. 

'  Well,  I  had  a  slight  accident  with  it  at  Moor  Hill  a 
couple  of  days  ago.  The  fact  is,  I  saw  a  gate  by  the 
roadside  that  wanted  vaulting  badly.  It  looked  as  good 
as  new,  though  a  trifle  moss-grown.  I  touched  it — just 
BO — and  the  minute  it  felt  my  weight — hi,  presto  I — every 
bar  of  it  came  apart  like  magic  ;  and  down  it  tumbled,  a 
bundle  of  sticks,  with  me  in  the  midst  of  them.  It  re- 
minded me  of  the  deacon's  "  one-hoss  shay."  I  crushed 
my  hand  and  arm  a  bit  just  trying  to  save  my  sell 
But  that's  alL  It's  nothing.  It'll  be  right  in  a  day  or 
two.' 

Mr.  Hayward  glanced  back  at  him  with  a  strange 
wistful  look  of  mingled  distress  and  admiration.  He 
surveyed  those  splendid  limbs,  that  vigorous  young  body, 
that  eager,  ardent  face,  oh,  so  sadly,  so  regretfully. 

'Why,  my  boy,'  he  said,  with  a  bitter  smile,  'how 
irrepressible  you  are  1  How  uncrushable  I  The  health  and 
strength  and  youth  in  you  will  come  out  in  spite  of  every- 
thing. What  could  ever  have  made  me  mistake  such  a  lad 
as  you  for  an  instrument  we  could  mould  and  model  to 
our  pattern  ?  To  think  that  even  at  such  a  depressing 
moment  &a  this  you  had  vitality  enough  left  in  you  to 
vault  the  first  five-barred  gate  you  came  to  1' 

*  I  was  ashamed  of  it  myself,'  Owen  answered  peni- 
tently. 

Mr.   Hayward  eyed  him  i^ain,  as  they  walked  om 


i 


A  STRANGE  SUGGESTION 


«X3 


towards  the  lodgings,  a  small  boy  toiling  behind  them, 
panting  with  the  portmanteau. 

*  So  much  life  and  energy,'  he  said,  ruefully  surveying 
his  ward  with  admiring  pity  from  head  to  foot.  '  So 
much  force  and  beauty ;  so  much  vigour  and  impetus. 
What  a  pity  it  must  be  so.  .  .  .  But  there's  no  other 
way  out  of  it.' 

He  walked  along  in  silence  a  few  yards  further.  Then 
he  began  quietly,  once  more,  in  no  unfriendly  tone : 

'I'm  glad  you  crushed  your  hand,  though,  my  boy;  it 
may  make  things  easier  for  us.' 

Owen  hadn't  the  faintest  idea  what  Mr.  Hayward  was 
driving  at,  but  he  walked  on  by  his  friend's  side  without 
another  word  till  they  reached  the  lodgings.  Then  the 
elder  man  led  the  way  in  through  the  leafless  garden, 

Eausing  for  a  moment  by  the  gate  to  remark  upon  the  cold 
eauty  of  the  wintry  view — the  long  line  of  pollard 
willows  by  the  river  bank ;  the  bare  elms  just  beyond,  in 
the  hedgerow  by  the  brook ;  the  slender  twigs  of  the 
birches,  silhouetted  by  m3nriads  against  the  twiUght  sky. 

*  I've  had  a  shot  or  two  at  them  with  the  camera,'  he 
Baid,  '  in  spite  of  frost  and  snow.  In  fact,  I  haven't  let 
either  weather  or  my  accident  interfere  with  my  ordinary 
pursuits  in  any  way.  I've  been  out  on  the  river  every 
day  since  I  came.  Mr.  Wilcox,  my  landlord  here,  keeps 
A  canoe  and  a  dingey,  which  he  lets  out  for  hire.  I've 
tried  them  both,  and  I  hnd  it  really  a  most  enjoyable 
exercise  these  frosty  mornings.' 

'  Seems  to  take  his  mind  off,  poor  gentleman  I'  Mrs. 
Wilcox,  the  landlady,  said  to  Owen  confidentially,  some 
minutes  later,  as  she  ushered  him  upstairs  to  his  bed- 
room in  the  little  country  inn,  half  tavern,  half  farm- 
house, overlooking  the  river.  *  I'm  glad  you've  come,  sir, 
for  he's  badly  in  want  o'  summat  to  interest  him  and 
amuse  him.  He's  a  real  nice  gentleman,  that's  just  what 
he  is,  and  kindness  itself  to  the  children;  and  so 
thoughtful  and  that,  too.  "  Mrs.  Wilcox,"  says  he, 
when  he  come  fust,  "  anythink'll  do  for  me  ;  don't  let  me 
disturb  your  own  arrangements  in  any  way."  But  he've 
talked  a  sight  about  yoi,  sir,  and  been  looking  forwaid 
to  your   coming  from  the  very  fust  moment  he  evei 


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VNDBR  SBALBD  ORDERS 


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arriT«d.  "Ah,  this'U  do  nicely  for  my  yoting  tAtiA,' 
says  he,  when  he  looks  in  at  this  very  bedroom.  He'f 
main  fond  o'  you,  sir ;  one  can  see  that  with  half  a  eye. 
Got  neither  chick  nor  child  of  his  own,  nor  yet  a  wife  no 
more,  he  tells  me ;  so  it  ain't  no  wonder  he  should  think 
such  a  lot  ofyou.' 

For  Mr.  Hayward's  sake,  in  spite  of  his  depressioi^' 
Owen  tried  that  evening  to  be  as  cheerful  as  possible. 
He  went  down  to  dinner  in  the  8ti£f  Utile  parlour — the 
usual  bare  room  of  the  English  country  inn,  with  coloured 
lithographs  of  red-coated  hunters  in  full  cry  after  a  pro* 
digiously  brush-tailed  fox  for  its  sole  decorations — and  he 
even  ate  what  he  coald,  thoagh  the  moutbfuls  choked 
him.  Good,  simple  Mrs.  Wilooz  had  done  her  best  in 
honour  of  '  Mr.  Hayward's  young  gentleman,'  and  was 
distressed  to  see  her  spring  chicken  despised,  as  she 
thought,  ar^d  her  mince-pies  unappreciated.  But  Owen 
couldn't  h( up  it.  Conversation  languished  till  the  coffee 
came  in.  Then  Mr.  Hayward  turned  round,  drew  his 
chair  to  the  Hre,  and  began  talking  to  him — in  Bussian. 

Owen  knew  what  that  meant  at  once.  It  was  the  seal 
of  seereoy.  He  bent  forward  to  listen.  Mr.  Hayward, 
paler  still,  spoke  earnebtly,  passionately. 

'  My  boy,  my  boy  t'  he  cried,  in  a  sudden  outburst  of 
horror ; '  you've  read  your  Bible  well.  Do  jan  remember 
how  Abraham  offered  up  Isaac?* 

Owen's  heart  stood  still  within  him.  He  knew  it  must 
3ome ;  but  now  that  it  had  come  at  last  it  was  very,  very 
terrible.  Stroug  and  brave  though  he  was,  he  was  young 
ind  vigorous ;  and  in  youth  to  die,  above  all  to  be  con- 
ieraned  to  death,  is  simply  heart-rending.  And  then 
ihere  was  lond.  But  he  would  never  flinch  from  it. 
Trae  Bussi  n  that  he  was  in  fibre,  he  would  meet  it,  he 
determined,  with  Bussian  resignation  and  Bussian  fatal- 
ism. He  bent  his  head  in  reply,  and,  speaking  low  in 
^he  tongue  of  his  ancestors,  made  answer  in  the  wordi 
of  Isaac,  '  Behold,  my  father,  the  fire  and  the  wood.' 
For  he  was  ready  for  the  sacrifice. 

Mr.  Hayward  rose  up  and  stood  pallid  before  him. 
Tean  gathered  in  his  eyes.  Hii  voioe  web  thick  mi4 
broken. 


▲  SntANGE  SUGGESTION 


«• 


*  Owen,  Owen,  my  Bon,'  he  cried,  very  low  bnt  sadly ; 
'  I'd  give  my  own  life  if  only  I  could  let  this  cup  pass 
from  you.  I've  turned  it  over  in  my  own  heart  a 
hundred  times  over  ;  I've  wrestled  with  it  and  struggled 
against  it ;  but  I  see  no  way  out  of  it.  If  I  didn't  strike, 
others  would ;  for  you  are  not  your  own  ;  you  are  bought 
with  a  price,  and  I  am  not  the  only  depositary  of  the 
secret.  Others  have  shared  with  me  for  twenty  years 
chis  burden  and  this  hope.  Others  have  heard  from  time 
to  time  all  the  chances  and  changes  of  the  game  as  it 
went.  They  learned  only  the  other  day  this  appointment 
had  been  offered  yon.  I  wrote  to  them  myself,  in 
accordance  with  our  arrangement.  If  /  were  to  draw 
back  now,  they  would  follow  up  my  work  for  me.  .  .  • 
For  your  sake,  for  lonS's,  I've  devised  and  perfected  % 
more  merciful  way.  There's  no  other  plan  possible  now^ 
I've  decided  upon  this  one  I' 

'What  one  is  that?'  Owen  asked,  trembling,  but  still 
submissive,  still  respectful. 

Mr.  Hayward  paused. 

*  I  can't  tell  you  yet,'  he  said,  wiping  the  tears  from 
his  cheek  as  they  rolled  slowly  down  without  anj 
pretence  at  concealment.  *  If  I  told  you,  I'd  give  way, 
and  there'd  be  a  scene  and  a  disclosure ;  and  for  the  sake 
of  the  Cause — for  Sacha's  sake,  for  lond's,  I  couldn't 
bear  that.  It  would  be  too,  too  terrible.  ...  I  mean, 
they'd  know  afterwards  it  was  no  accident,  no  casualty, 
but  a  pre-arranged  plaa  I  don't  want  them  to  know 
that.  Whatever  lond  may  guess,  whatever  Saoha  may 
guess,  whatever  Olga  Mireff  may  guess,  I  want  the  world 
at  large  to  think  it  was  a  mere  unforeseen  chanoa  .  .  • 
On  that  account  I  was  glad  your  poor  hand  had  been 
crushed.  With  a  man  of  your  physique  it  makes  Ki 
accident  like  this  ...  a  little  less  improbable.' 

•  Why,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  Owen  asked,  gasping  hard. 
For  lond's  sake  he  could  have  wished  it  had  been  other- 
wise. 

'  Nothing,'  Mr.  Hayward  answered,  controlling  hii 
voice  with  difficulty.  '  Nothing,  nothing;  nothing.  Only 
come  out  with  me  to-morrow  morning.  I  can't  describe 
it.    Ces  ohoses-la  se  font,  male  ne  se  disent  pas.    And 


Rias 


■Mjaafliii 


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UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


i 


:l 


the  leas  you  know  beforehand,  in  any  way,  the  better.  1 
will  arrange  the  rest.  It's  more  meroiful  so.  .  .  .  My 
boy,  my  boy,  I  do  it  all  to  spare  you  I' 

He  dropped  into  a  ohair,  his  hands  clasped  between 
his  knees,  the  very  picture  of  misery.  For  half  an  hour 
more  they  sat  moodily  silent.  When  Mrs.  Wilcox  came 
in  from  time  to  time,  indeed,  Mr.  Hayward  roused  him- 
eelf  for  the  moment,  with  an  evident  effort.  He  talked 
as  well  as  he  was  able  in  a  forced  tone  of  cheerfulness 
about  the  nothings  of  the  day — ^people  they  knew  in 
common,  his  latest  photographs,  the  morning's  news, 
the  Iccal  surroundings  of  Benlade.  He'd  taken  some 
good  negatives  of  these  frost-bespangled  trees.  But  as 
soon  as  the  landlady  went  out  again  they  relapsed  with 
one  accord  into  the  same  listless  attitudes  as  before. 
Owen  sat  gloomily  and  looked  at  the  fire.  Mr.  Hayward 
sat  gloomily  and  looked  at  Owen. 

At  last  bedtime  came.  Mr.  Hayward  rose  uneasily 
and  took  a  bedroom  candle.  Then  he  turned  and  gazed 
at  his  ward — his  victim — ruthfully. 

'  Owen,'  he  said,  in  a  solemn  voice,  '  you're  as  dear  to 
me  and  as  precious  as  if  you  were  my  own  very  son. 
I've  watched  and  thought,  watched  and  thought,  watched 
and  thought,  night  by  night,  how  I  could  manage  to  save 
you  from  this  hateful  necessity.  I've  struggled  and 
wrestled  with  myself  between  the  long  slow  hours  in  the 
early  morning.  I've  prayed  for  light.  But  no  light  has 
come  to  me.  It's  terrible,  terrible  I  My  boy,  I'd  give  my 
life  for  you — oh,  so  gladly,  so  willingly !  But  my  life  is 
nothing.  To  think  how  I've  seen  you  grow,  and  watched 
your  progress  with  pride,  and  filled  my  heart  with  the 
joy  of  you  1  And  was  it  all  for  this  ?  Oh,  Owen,  I  wish 
to  God  I'd  let  you  die  in  the  snow  that  dreadful  day  at 
Wilna  1' 

Owen  stood  opposite  him,  candle  in  hand,  all  softened 
by  his  mute  look  of  unspeakable  anguish. 

*  Mr.  Hayward,'  he  answered  slowly,  •  I'll  die  willingly, 
if  that's  all.  I  don't  mind  dying.  .  .  ,  It's  what  I  was 
brought  up  for.' 

Mr.  Hay  ward's  soul  wdct  up  irom  him  in  one  deadly 
groan. 


SENTENCE  OF  DEATH 


ai7 


•  Die?  Die?'  he  said  bitterly.  *  Why,  that's  nothing, 
■othing.  I  could  have  borne  to  see  you  die,  if  it  had 
been  for  martyred  Russia  !  A  mother  even  oan  bear  to 
see  her  son  die  —a  soldier's  death-  -on  the  field  of  battle 
But  to  die  like  this,  inglorious,  by  a  traitor's  doom,  with 
no  task  performed,  no  duty  fulfilled,  to  escape  a  people's 
curse  and  a  people's  vengeance — it's  that  that  stings  me 
to  the  core — it's  that  that  freezes  my  life-blood.' 

And  seizing  his  ward's  hand  very  remorsefully  in  his 
own,  he  shook  it  hard  twice,  and  went  up  to  a  sleepless 
night  in  his  own  cottage  bedroom. 


CHAPTEB  XXXrV. 


RBNTENOB  OF  DEATH. 

All  that  night  long,  till  morning  dawned,  Owen  nevei 
slept.  How  could  he,  indeed?  He  was  a  condemned 
criminal.  He  perfectly  understood  now  he  was  to  die 
the  next  day.  Mr.  Hayward  had  decreed  it — remorse- 
fully, self -reproachfully — but,  still,  decreed  it.  No 
Bentence  of  any  regularly  constituted  court  could  have 
had  greater  validity  in  Owen  Gazalet's  eyes  than  that 
man's  mere  word.  His  orders  were,  '  Come  out  with  me 
to-morrow.' 

'Come  out  with  me  to-morrow?'  What  could  that 
phrase  mean?  Owen  wondered.  Was  it  dagger,  or 
dynamite,  or  revolver,  or  poison?  And  why  had  Mr 
Hayward  brought  him  down  by  himself  to  this  remote 
place  to  kill  him  ?  Here  detection  was  certain  ;  to  pass 
in  the  crowd,  impossible.  Why  not,  then,  in  London, 
where  escape  is  so  easy  ?  Why  here,  where  every 
stranger  became  at  once  by  his  mere  presence  a  con- 
spicuous person?  Owen  turned  it  over  in  his  own  mind, 
but  found  no  answer  anywhere.  He  didn't  even  know  to 
what  manner  of  death  he  was  condemned.  That  made 
it  the  more  terrible.  He  knew  only  this  much — he  must 
die  to-morrow. 

And  lond?    Of  lend  he  couldn't  bear  to  think.    let 


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here,  under  the  bodily  spell  of  Mr.  Hayward's  command- 
ing voice  and  Mr.  Hayward's  compelling  eye,  he  could  no 
more  dream  of  disobedience  to  his  Chief  than  the  soldier 
in  the  ranks  can  dream  of  mutiny  before  the  very  face  of 
the  general  Even  lone  herself  was  half  f'x  gotten  for 
the  moment.  He  thought  most  now  of  the  pain  and 
distress  he  was  causing  Mr.  Hayward. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  by — the  clock  clanged  them  in 
turn — and  still  he  lay  awake,  and  tossed  and  turned,  and 
wondered.  Towards  morning,  however,  strange  to  say, 
youth  and  strength  prevailed,  and  he  dozed  off  into  a 
deep  sleep,  as  peaceful  and  undisturbed  as  the  sleep  of 
childhood. 

At  eight  he  woke  with  a  start,  rose  in  haste,  much 
ashamed  of  himself,  and  went  down  to  breakfast.  It 
was  the  last  he  would  ever  eat — for  he  must  die  thii 
morning.  Mr.  Hayward  was  there  before  him,  pale, 
haggard,  unhappy.  The  miserable  look  on  the  n\an'i 
face  struck  Owen  dumb  with  pity.  More  even  th;>.n  for 
himself  he  felt  for  Mr.  Hayward.  He  gazed  bar  3  :'  i  ^  *m 
for  a  minute  or  two  before  he  could  make  ap  his  mim.  t''- 
speak.    Then  he  said  in  a  very  soft  and  gentle  voice  : 

*  I'm  afraid  you've  had  no  sleep.  You  look  dreadfully 
tired.' 

Mr.  Hayward  turned  round  upon  him  with  all  tht 
fierceness  of  despair. 

'Sleep  I'  he  echoed.  'Sleep!  How  could  I  sleep  at 
such  a  moment?  Owen,  I've  passed  twelve  hours  of 
speechless  agony.  I've  fought  more  devils  through  the 
night  than  ever  hell  turned  out.  Eussia  and  the  Cause 
have  trembled  and  tottered  like  a  quicksand  beneath  my 
feet.  My  faith  has  vanished.  .  .  .  Owen,  my  boy,  my 
boy,  I'd  give  the  world  to  keep  you  I' 

Owen  stared  at  him,  cold  to  the  bone. 

•  I  wish  it  could  have  been  otherwise,'  he  said  slowly, 
with  bloodless  lips.  '  But  if  it's  needful  I  must  die,  I  die 
willingly,  ungrudgingly.' 

The  elder  man  rose,  crushed  a  piece  of  paper  in  hif 
hand,  and  Hung  it  into  the  fire  with  a  bitter  gesture. 

'Owen,'  he  cried,  once  more,  '  I'm  aBhamed  of  myself 
for  saying  it.    I'm  going  back  upon  the  faith  and  hope  of 


SENTENCE  OP  DEATH 


•"f 


%  lifetime  in  saying  it.  I'm  a  devil  for  saying  it.  Bat, 
Owen,  if  all  Bussia  in  one  person  knelt  there  before  me 
this  moment  with  one  neck  to  strike,  I  swear  to  God — 
oh,  it's  horrible — I'd  lift  my  sword  and  strike  her,  wii- 
Ungly  strike  her,  to  save  you.' 

Owen  bent  his  head  meekly  as  if  to  receive  the  blow. 

*  If  it  must  be,  it  must  be,'  he  answered  in  aU  rer^ 
rence,  all  humble  resignation. 

Mr.  Hayward  sat  down  and  pretended  to  eat.  He 
broke  an  egg,  scooped  it  out,  and  flung  the  contents  in 
the  fire.  He  drank  off  half  a  cup  of  coffee,  that  choked 
him  as  he  swallowed  it,  and  then  thrust  his  bread  in  his 
pocket,  unable  to  eat  it.  The  very  drink  almost  burned 
him  like  molten  metal.  His  face  was  livid  and  blue  with 
his  unspeakable  misery. 

As  for  Owen,  he  ate  and  drank  as  a  condemned  man 
will  somet^^imes  do  on  the  morning  of  his  execution,  just 
to  keep  his  courage  up.  That  ghastly  uncertainty  about 
the  mode  of  death  chosen  for  him  made  him  quiver  with 
excitement.  It  was  so  terrible,  too,  that  he  couldn't 
even  write  a  line  to  lond  to  tell  her  what  must  happen. 
He  ate  and  drank  in  solemn  silence,  his  guardian  all  the 
time  looking  on  at  him  and  groaning. 

After  breakfast,  Mr.  Haywaxd  left  the  room  for  a 
minute,  and  Mrs.  Wilcox  came  in  to  clear  the  table. 

'  Poor  dear  gentleman,'  she  said  compassionately.  '  He 
don't  seem  no  better  at  all,  but  rather  a  bit  worse  if  any- 
think  this  morning.  I  was  in  hopes  when  you  come 
down,  sir,  it  might  'a  done  him  a.  power  o'  good  to  have 
fresh  young  blood  about  the  house,  as  one  may  say,  he's 
that  dull  and  miserable.  But,  Lord,  it  ain't  done  him  no 
good  at  all,  as  I  can  see,  he's  worse  this  morning  nor  ever 
I've  known  him — no  colour  nor  nothink.  And  he  tossed 
and  turned,  and  got  up  so  in  the  night,  and  walked  about 
his  room,  that  Wilcox  he  couldn't  sleep  for  lying  awake 
and  listening  to  him.  He  says  he  do  think  Mr.  Hayward 
must  have  a  presentiment  .  .  .  and  well  he  may,  poor 
dear  gentleman,  for  he  ain't  long  for  this  world,  that's 
certain.  I  wish  he'd  take  some  o'  that  there  curative 
extraot  as  saved  my  slater's  life  after  ten  years  in  a  de- 
•lijia,  an'  her  every  bit  ai  bad  In  her  time  as  what  b*  ii^* 


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*  I'm  afraid,'  Owen  eaid  gravely,  *  it  wouldn't  do  him 
much  good.  His  case  is  too  far  gone  for  curative  extracts 
now.  Nothing's  likely  to  save  him.  He's  past  hope,  Mrs. 
Wilcox.' 

A  minute  or  two  later  Mr.  Hayward  came  down  again. 
He  had  on  a  rough  pea  jackf't  and  a  flannel  boating  cap. 

'  This  is  how  I  go  attired  to  take  my  walks  abroad  in 
the  dingey,'  he  said,  with  a  ghastly  attempt  at  some  pre- 
tence of  levity.  *  Are  you  game  for  a  row,  Owen?  It's 
chilly,  but  nice  and  clear  on  the  water  this  morning,  and 
I  find  nothing  warms  me  up  like  a  turn  on  the  river.' 

*  All  right,'  Owen  answered,  endeavouring  to  imitate 
his  friend's  forced  cheerfulness.  '  I  am  not  very  fit  my- 
self, with  my  hand  and  arm  like  this,  bat  it's  best  to  cue 
them,  after  all — it  prevents  stiilness.' 

He  followed  Mr.  Hayward,  all  wondering,  to  the  bank; 
where  Wilcox,  the  landlord,  stood  waiting  with  the 
dmgey  and  the  canoe,  armed  with  a  long-handled  boat- 
hook.  Mr.  Hayward  took  his  seat  in  the  bigger  of  the 
two  boats,  and  put  the  scuHs  in  the  rowlocks. 

*  You'll  try  the  canoe,  Owen,'  he  said.     '  Mind  how 
you  get  into  her.    She's  an  unsteady  little  craft,  lop 
sided  in  a  high  wind.    Topples  over  ia  a  minute  if  yoa 
oough  or  sneeze  or  wink  in  her.' 

Owen  jumped  lightly  in. 

*0h,  I'm  accustomed  to  canoes,*  he  answered,  now 
beginning  to  catch  vague  glimpf:es  of  what  was  coming 
next.  '  I  can  do  just  what  I  like  in  them — stand  up 
in  them,  lie  down  in  them,  dance  a  horiJipipe,  if  neces- 
•ary.  I  never  upset.  They're  as  easy  as  A  B  C  when 
once  you  know  the  ways  of  them.' 

He  took  the  paddle  in  his  maimed  right  hand,  and 
tried  a  stroke  or  two,  doable-handed.  It  hm-t  his  wrist 
a  good  deal,  but  he  precended  to  disregard  it.  Wilcox 
gave  them  a  push  with  the  long-handled  boa<:-hook  out 
Into  mid-btream,  where  the  current  caught  them,  and 
they  glided  away  merrily  down  river  towards  Oxford. 

The  'L^hames  wau^  oi  course,  deserted  at  that  time  of 
Tear,  ilscent  frosts  on  the  canals  had  checked  even  the 
barge  trafiio.  Not  a  soul  stood  about,  not  a  boat  was  on 
Ihe  river.    They  made  their  way  alone  roond  a  bend  of 


SENTENCE  OF  DEATH 


stz 


the  stream,  between  silent  banks,  where  the  sedges 
drooped  over  the  brink,  heavily  weighted  with  icicles. 
Bare  pollard  willows  shut  them  in  to  the  right,  with  beds 
of  osiers  whistling  beyond  in  the  wintry  breeze.  To  the 
left  were  flooded  water  meadows.  It  was  a  dreary  pros- 
pect. All  was  cold,  and  dim,  and  dreary,  and  desolate. 
At  last  Owen  spoke. 

'  Shall  I  .  .  .  ever  come  back  a^ain  ?'  he  asked  in  a 
tremulous  undertone. 

Mr.  Hayward's  voice  was  hardly  audible  through 
choked  sobs. 

'  No,  my  boy,'  he  answered  with  an  effort ;  *  or  only 
to  the  churchyard.' 

They  rowed  or  paddled  on  then  for  a  mile  or  two  in 
silence.  It  was  a  lonely  reach  of  the  stream.  No  houssii 
stood  in  sight,  and  even  the  towpath  by  the  side  lay  still 
and  deserted.  Presently  the  dingey,  which  led  the  way 
by  some  twenty  yards,  turned  sharply  to  the  right  down 
a  still  lonelier  backwater.  It  was  a  fairly  broad  channel, 
used  to  turn  a  paper-mill;  its  bank  was  beset  by  tall 
flags  and  the  dead  stems  of  withered  willow-herb.  Owen 
followed  in  the  canoe,  with  a  vague  presentiment  of 
coming  ill.     At  the  end  rose  a  sound  of  rushing  waters. 

Mr.  Hayward  spoke  just  once.  His  voice  was  now 
terribly  calm  and  stern ;  but  it  was  the  calmness  of 
despair,  the  sternness  of  the  inevitable. 

<  There's  a  mill  by  the  main  stream  just  below,'  he 
said  in  an  inflexible  tone.  '  This  backwater's  the  leet — 
over  yonder's  the  overflow.  It  leads  to  a  dam  on  the 
left ;  and  beyond  it  I've  found  a  very  dangerous  lasher.' 

'  I  see,'  Owen  answered  blindly,  paddling  forward  once 
more  in  tremulous  silence.  He  could  feel  his  heart  beat. 
He  knew  now  what  was  coming. 

As  they  reached  the  calm  expanse  at  the  top  of  the 
dam,  Owen  took  it  all  in,  step  by  step,  unbidden.  The 
water  rushed  deep  enough  over  the  lasher  to  float  a  small 
boat.  The  current  ran  fierce,  and  could  engulf  a  man 
down  in  a  canoe  without  difficulty.  Below  lay  a  deep 
pool,  swirling  and  simmering  with  undercurrents.  In  its 
midsi/,  the  eddy  from  the  lasher  and  the  eddy  from  the 
flood  gates — mmgling  and  battling  as  they  met — made  » 


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perpetual  turmoil,  and  churned  up  the  white  Burfaoe  mlt 
petty  whirlpools,  that  could  suck  a  swimmer  down,  even 
naked  and  in  summer ;  but  that  would  easily  drown  him, 
clogged  with  clothes  and  boots  on,  in  icy  winter  weather. 

Mr.  Hay  ward  had  chosen  his  place  of  execution  welL 
It  was  a  very  natural  spot  for  an  accident  to  happen. 
Owen  saw  it  at  a  glance.  Boat  drawn  down  by  the 
swirl,  man  upset  and  drowned  there. 

He  glanced  at  the  seething  eddies,  and  at  the  board  by 
the  side,  '  To  Bathers :  Dangerous.'  Then  he  scanned 
his  own  stroDg  limbs,  and  turned  with  a  meaning  look 
to  Mr.  Hayward. 

'  It's  lucky  the  water's  ice-cold,'  he  said,  in  a  oalm, 
deep  voice,  growing  still  with  despair,  •  and  that  my 
hand's  so  mangled.  Otherwise,  I  don't  think  I  could 
possibly  drown  in  such  a  narrow  space,  even  trying  to  do 
it.  Those  whirlpools  aren't  fierce  enough.  I  swim  too 
well.  You  see,  it's  almost  impossible,  however  muoh 
you  may  wish  it,  not  to  struggle  and  strike  out  when  you 
feel  yourself  drowning.  The  water  gets  in  your  throat, 
and  you  kick  away,  in  spite  of  yourseli  Besides,  I'm 
so  strong.  I  should  flounder  out,  willy-nilly.  But  I'll 
see  what  I  can  man'^ge.  I'll  do  my  best  to  restrain  my- 
self.' 

*  So  do,'  Mr.  Hayward  made  answer,  in  the  same  in- 
exorable tone,  as  of  offended  Bussia.  He  rowed  nearer 
and  nearer,  and  motioned  Owen  to  pass  him.  '  Now — 
here  1'  he  cried,  pointing  with  one  finger  to  a  rush  of 
green  water,  in  the  very  centre  of  the  lasher,  sliding 
smooth  down  its  rapid  slope  into  the  wild  thick  of  the 
whirlpool  '  When  I  cry  "  Ofif  1'  let  go  your  paddle,  and 
down  the  lasher  full  pelt.  Upset  boat  dit  the  bottom,  and 
don't  dare  to  swim  a  stroke.  Hold  your  hands  to  your 
sides.  Those  are  my  orders — my  orders.  .  .  .  Oh, 
heavens  I  I  can't  say  the  words.  .  .  .  Owen,  Owen, 
Owen  r 

And,  indeed,  as  Owen,  obeying  hie  gesture,  moved  out 
into  the  full  current,  and  paused  with  poised  paddle, 
awaiting  the  fatal  signal, '  Off  1'  a  sudden  aocess  of  horror 
and  awe  seemed  to  have  seized  his  chief,  who,  even  as 
he  cried  his  name  thrice,  let  the  owrs  drop  unexpectedly, 


eSNTBNCB  09  DBATR 


elappod  his  t^ro  hands  to  his  ears,  as  womsn  and  ehildres 
often  do  when  terrified,  and  sobbed  aloud  in  hit  agony 
once  more  : 

'  Oh,  Owen,  Owen,  Owen  I' 

Then,  before  Owen  could  say  what  was  happening,  tha 
whole  n^irit  of  the  scene  was  suddenly  changed,  as  if  by 
magic.  A  terrible  awe  came  over  hinL  The  rush  of  the 
water,  catching  the  heavy  dingey,  no  longer  held  back 
by  the  force  of  Mr.  Hayward's  arms,  hurried  it  forward 
like  lightning.  Down,  down  it  clashed  madly  over  the 
inclined  plane  of  the  lasher.  At  the  bottom,  a  rebellioufl 
undertow  of  white  foam  surged  ceaselessly  back,  as  if  in 
anger,  on  the  dark  green  flow.  Arrived  at  that  point, 
the  dingey  capsized  Uke  a  helpless  hulk.  The  sculla 
disappeared  all  at  once  in  the  seething  gulf,  the  boat 
floating  off  by  herself,  bottom  upwards.  And  Mr.  Hay- 
ward's  sacred  head,  the  most  venerable  and  venerated  in 
the  Nihilist  hierarchy,  showed  dark  for  one  moment  as 
a  black  jpot  on  the  white  foam  .  .  .  and  then  went 
under  resistlessly. 

At  that  appalling  sight,  Owen  burst  like  a  child  into  a 
wild  shout  of  horror.  Mr.  Hayward  upset  I  Mr.  Hay- 
ward  drowning  I  In  a  moment  his  own  danger  was  for- 
gotten forthwith  in  the  profound  realization  of  that 
irreparable  loss  to  Bussia  and  to  humanity.  Oh,  how 
terrible  he  should  be  so  hampered  by  that  crushed  and 
mangled  hand  1  But,  still,  he  must  risk  it.  Gould  h« 
bring  him  oat  alive  ?    Over,  over,  and  try  for  it  I 


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CHAPTEB  XXX7. 

DIBOIPLINH. 

With  a  wild  cry  of  alarm,  Owen  steered  his  oanoe  into 
the  midst  of  the  stream,  and  dashed  straight  down  tha 
lasher,  after  T^^r.  Hayward.  At  its  foot  the  canoe  upset, 
and  the  paddle  was  wrenched  from  his  hands — he  had 
expected  that  much.  Next  moment  he  found  himself,  in 
coat  and  boots  and  trousers,  battling  hard  for  dear  life  ia 
ths  icy-oold  water. 


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UNDER  SEALBD  ORDERS 


7iist  at  first  the  mad  current  sucked  him  under  with 
its  force,  and  oast  him  up  again  as  it  willed,  and  sucked 
hira  down  once  more,  helpless,  like  a  straw  below 
Niagara.  He  danced  about,  flung  hither  and  thither  at 
its  caprice,  half  Unconscious.  But  after  a  minute  or  two, 
as  he  grew  gradually  more  used  to  the  icy  chill,  he  felt 
his  limbs  alive,  and  struck  out  with  desperate  strokes,  in 
spite  of  the  wounded  arm  that  shot  pain  along  its  whole 
length  at  every  fierce  contraction  of  those  powerful 
muscles.  Even  then,  for  a  second  or  two,  the  natural 
instinct  of  self-preservation  alone  inspired  him.  He 
plunged  blindly  towards  the  shore,  in  a  wild  fight  with 
the  numbing  eddies,  without  so  much  as  ever  remember- 
ing, under  the  deadening  effect  of  the  sudden  shock  on 
his  nerves,  the  existence  of  Mr.  Hayward  or  his  pressing 
danger.  The  water  all  round  seemed  to  absorb  and  en- 
gross his  entire  attention.  He  was  conscious  only  of 
deadly  cold,  and  of  the  undertow  that  dragged  him  down, 
in  his  clinging  clothes,  and  of  sharp  pains  in  his  arms 
that  all  but  disabled  him  for  swimming. 

After  very  few  such  strokes,  however,  he  came  to  him- 
self suddenly.  With  another  wild  cry,  the  truth  broke 
in  upon  him  again.  Mr.  Hayward !  Mr.  Hayward  I 
Drowning,  drowning,  drowning  1  In  an  agony  of  horror, 
Owen  Cazalet  raised  himself,  as  by  a  superhuman 
effort,  head  and  shoulders  above  the  cold  flood,  and 
peered  around  him,  aghast,  for  his  friend  and  guardian. 
Not  a  sign  of  the  man  anywhere  t  Not  a  mark,  not  a 
token  I  He  must  have  gone  under  for  ever.  At  that 
thought,  Owen's  blood  ran  colder  within  him  than  even 
the  ice-cold  water  without.  This  was  all  his  own  doing  I 
This  was  the  outcome  of  his  defection !  He  was  his 
master's  murderer  I  By  his  betrayal  of  the  Cause,  it 
was  he  who  had  brought  Mr.  Hayward  into  such  deadly 
peril  I  Help,  help  I  oh,  help  I  What  would  he  not  do 
to  retrieve  himself?  But  how  to  do  it?  How  save 
him  ?    How  repair  this  evil  ? 

Frozen  without  and  within,  but  fiery  hot  at  heart  with 
this  new  sense  of  wild  danger — not  for  himself,  not  for 
himself,  but  for  the  chief  of  the  Cause,  the  man  he  re- 
vered and  respected  above  all  men  living — Owen  began 


?V^> 


1^ 


v: 


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Pi:^ 

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jT"  ■  ' 

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"THK   left   hand   t'NDKK  THK  I  IIIN  !      I'NDKH  THK  AHM  !      INDKIl  THE  PHOl'LUKK  1 
HE   WA8   Al.lVE   STII.I.— Al.lVK  I  "— PUKli  225. 


m 


A:] 


-I,  Hi 


DISCirUNB 


ns 


lo  ewim  on  once  more,  with  fiery  zeal,  no  longer  shore- 
ward now,  but  straight  down  the  mid-pool  in  the  direction 
where  the  eddies  must  have  carried  Mr.  Hayward.  As 
he  swam,  his  maimed  arm  at  each  stroke  grew  more  and 
more  unbearably  painful.  But  still  he  persevered,  strik- 
ing out  with  both  legs  and  with  his  left  hand,  as  best  he 
might,  while  the  right  hung  useless,  battling  the  eddies 
in  a  fierce  struggle,  escaping  with  difficulty  from  those 
great  watery  arms  that  tried  to  clutch  at  him  from  below 
with  intangible  fingers,  and  whirl  him  resistlessly  in  their 
vortex,  and  pull  him  under  like  a  straw,  to  fling  him  up 
again  a  mangled  coipse  on  the  milk-white  foam  some 
hundred  yards  further.  It  was  a  life-and-death  grapple. 
Owen  wrestled  with  the  water  as  one  might  wrestle  in 
fight  with  a  human  combatant. 

At  last,  as  he  fought  his  way  out  into  one  npbubbling 
■wash,  that  surged  oozily  to  the  top,  a  dark  object  in 
front  of  him  rose  for  a  second,  uncertain,  on  the  gurgling 
surface.  Hair,  hair  1  a  man's  head  I  It  was  him — Mr. 
Hayward  I  "With  a  mad  impulse  of  joy,  Owen  lunged 
out  at  it  and  seized  it.  lie  held  it  aloft  in  his  grasp, 
propped  it  up  again,  caught  and  clutched  it.  The  water 
tried  to  wrest  it  away,  but  Owen  clung  to  it  and  kept  it. 
The  left  hand  under  the  chin  I  Under  the  arm  I  Under 
the  shoulder  I  He  was  alive  still — alive  I  Breathing, 
choking,  and  sputtering  I 

•  Oh,  Mr.  Hayward,  cling  tight  to  me  I'  Owen  cried, 
between  fear  and  joy.  *  Not  on  my  arms.  Don't  im- 
pede me.  Let  me  hold  you  under  the  chest — so.  I^oY 
strike  out.    To  land  1  to  landward  I' 

But  Mr.  Hayward,  half  drowned,  and  numbed  with 
the  cold,  made  answer,  in  a  voice  rendered  half  inaudible 
by  the  water  in  his  windpipe  : 

'  No,  no  ;  let  me  diown,  my  boy.  Don't  try  to  save 
me ;  don't  swim ;  don't  strike  out.  Let  us  both  go  down 
together  V 

At  that  moment,  as  he  steadied  himself,  one  of  the 
■culls  rose  ap,  bobbing,  by  his  side  on  the  water.  Owen 
seized  it,  and  made  Mr.  Hayward  grip  his  deadened 
white  fingers  round  the  thick  part  of  the  shaft.  Then, 
holding  it  himself  at  the  sam-i  time,  and  atriking  ou^ 


•ttj 

i 


i 


ill 

■in 

it 

M 


n 


UNDER  SEAI^BD  ORDERS 


with  his  two  strong  thighs,  he  tried  with  all  his  might  tt 
push  his  rescued  friend  shoreward.  But  Mr.  Hayward, 
seeing  what  he  meant,  unclasped  his  hooked  fingers,  and 
let  the  oar  go  suddenly.  In  a  second  he  had  gone  under 
again,  the  water  sucking  him  in  as  the  eddy  '  ^m  an  oar 
Bucks  down  a  floating  speck  of  feathery  f  s-down. 
Once  more  Owen  plunged  after  him,  and  _.dd,  with 
breath  held  hard,  into  tiie  ice-cold  whirlpool  It  was  an 
awful  moment.  He  felt  his  wind  fail  him.  The  waler 
was  in  his  nostrils,  his  mouth,  his  lungs.  Groping 
blindly  in  the  dark,  he  caught  his  coat  a  second  time. 
Then  he  clutched  his  man  by  the  arm,  and,  with  a  terrible 
ipurt,  brought  him  back  to  the  surface.  There,  a  deadly 
struggle  began  between  the  two  men — the  rescuer  and 
the  rescued — in  the  piercing  cold  water.  Mr.  Hay  ward 
fought  hard  for  leave  to  drown  if  he  chose ;  he  gripped 
Owen  so  tight  he  almost  dragged  him  under.  Owen,  on 
his  side,  fought  hard  in  return  to  save  his  friend's  life — 
and  all  the  hopes  of  Eussia.  His  wounded  arm  got  a 
fierce  wrench,  too,  in  the  scuffle,  that  made  him  scream 
aloud  with  pain,  and  all  but  immanued  him  for  the  fight. 
But  still  he  persevered.  It  was  with  difficulty  he  kept 
himself  up,  and  floundered  on  through  the  water,  fighting 
his  way  every  inch,  with  Mr.  Hayward  pressed  close, 
like  a  baby,  to  his  bosom.  Thank  Heaven  for  one  thing 
— he  was  a  wonderful  swimmer.  The  very  hopelessness 
of  the  case  seemed  to  instil  of  itself  fresh  force  into  his 
limbs.  The  struggle  was  so  hard,  the  odds  against  him 
BO  enormous.  With  clothes  and  boots,  and  in  that 
numbing  cold,  maimed  of  one  arm,  he  yet  stemmed  the 
deadly  stream,  and  brought  out  the  drowning  man, 
against  his  own  will,  to  the  bankside. 

By  that  time  his  force  had  almost  failed  him.  But 
Btill,  with  a  desperate  spring,  he  lifted  himself  ashore,  by 
leaning  on  his  wounded  right  hand,  and  vaulting  out  of 
the  water,  while  with  his  left  he  retained  his  grasp  on  Mr. 
Hayward's  collar.  After  that,  he  dra^^ged  his  companion 
nnceremoniously  to  the  bank,  and  laid  him  there  panting 
and  shivering,  a  torn  and  draggled  thing,  in  a  great  wet 
mass  of  close  and  clinging  clothing. 

Mr.  Hayward  looked  up  at  him,  faintly,  through  a  dim 
niit  of  watery  eyas. 


DISCIPLINE 


227 


'  What  did  you  do  that  for,  my  b<>y  ?"  1m  aslLred,  in  % 
■ort  of  despairing  expostulation. 

'  I  couldn't  let  you  drown,  could  I T  Owen  answered 
doggedly,  leaning  over  him  all  dripping. 

•  And  I  would  have  let  you  /'  Mr.  Hayward  retorted, 
pulling  himself  together,  and  sitting  up,  the  very  picture 
of  blank  and  dismal  despair,  in  his  wet,  ioy  clothes,  with 
the  cold  wind  whistling  through  them. 

'But  that  was  different,'  Owen  answered.  'I  had 
broken  the  bond,  and  deserved  the  penalty.  I  was  wait- 
ing there,  ready  for  the  word  of  command.  When  that 
word  came,  I'd  have  gone  over  and  drowned  myself  then 
and  there  without  a  moment's  hesitation.' 

'  Owen,  you  are  a  man  I'  Mr.  Hayward  cried,  raising 
himsell 

Owen  stood  up  in  his  turn,  and  grasped  the  cold  hand 
hard. 

'  Now,  run  back  to  the  village,'  he  cried,  *  as  quick  and 
fast  as  you  can  go.  Don't  delay  another  minute.  Our 
Bussia  has  need  of  you.' 

He  turned  to  the  brink  himself,  in  his  dripping  things, 
and  looked  wistfully  at  the  water.  It  was  hard  to  die 
— hard  to  leave  lone ;  but  the  Cause  demanded  it.  As 
he  stood  and  gazed,  Mr.  Hayward  laid  his  hand  on  hia 
pupil's  shoulder  with  the  old  kindly  weight. 

•  My  boy,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?'  he  cried,  startled. 
'  Tou  won't  surely  try  again  ?  You'll  come  back  to  the 
inn  with  me  ?' 

But  Owen  only  gazed  harder  at  the  great  gurgling 
dddies  from  which  he  had  just  with  such  difficulty  and 
danger  emerged.    The  cold  had  now  numbed  him. 

'  No,  no  I  That  was  to  save  your  life,'  he  said  with 
chattering  teeth.  '  I  know  my  duty,  I  hope.  Go,  go — 
and  be  safe  I  When  once  you're  well  out  of  sight  I  shall 
do  as  I  ought :  I  shall  obey  my  orders.' 

'  Owen  1'  Mr.  Hayward  cried,  holding 
'  Never  1  never  I  You  can't  I  You've  got 
I  haven't  given  them  yett  Do  as  you're 
back.      Discipline's  discipline.      This  isn't 


him  tight, 
no  orders  I 
told.  Hold 
what  I  bid 


you.    It  was 
spoken  it.' 


to  be  at  the  word  "  Off,"  and  I've  never 


'i^i 


%;\ 


0 


■•'rm 


■'i 


;  '^ 


I?   i 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


'  "Well,  you've  spoken  it  now,  then  I'  Owen  answered, 
half  mad  with  cold  and  despair.  *  I  hope  I'm  :io  coward. 
I  won't  take  advantage  of  having  saved  your  life  against 
treaiendous  odds,  to  save  my  own  against  your  express 
orders.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Hayward.  I've  been  a  useless 
son,  an  unprofitable  servant.  I've  served  Eussia  ill 
This  is  the  only  thing  now.  .  •  ,  Good-bye  I  good-bye  I 
Give  my  love  to  lone  1' 

And  without  one  moment's  delay,  tearing  himself  madly 
from  the  man's  grasp,  he  plunged  once  more  into  the  icy- 
cold  pool  that  gurgled  and  bubbled  in  deadly  tide  before 
him. 

True  soldier  to  the  last,  he  obeyed  his  sealed  ordenk 


CHAPTER  XXX^/L 

•hoo  brat  in  votis.' 

Mr.  Hayward  stood  aghast.  Mr.  Hdyward  paused  and 
hesitated.  Not  in  doubt,  not  in  suspense,  but  in  pure 
bodily  shrinking  from  a  second  tierce  conflict  with  that 
deadly  water.  For  some  instant?  he  gazed  at  the  swirl- 
ing current,  irresolute.  Then,  lifting  his  hands  to  dive — 
for  the  bank  shelved  sheer,  and  the  bottom  was  many 
feet  deep  in  shore — he  plunged  boldly  in  after  him,  and 
struck  out  with  all  his  might  in  the  direction  where  Owen 
had  disappeared  beneath  the  surface. 

It  was  no  easy  task,  however,  to  find  him ;  for  this 
time  the  lad,  as  he  had  no  life  to  save,  bore  his  first  in- 
structions in  mind,  and  allowed  his  wounded  arm  to  lie 
idle  by  iiis  side  without  struggling  or  floundering.  Nay, 
more,  as  far  as  he  was  able,  being  now  spent  with  swim- 
ming, he  let  himself  go  like  a  log  and  drift  under  with 
the  current.  It  bad  whirled  him  away  at  once,  down 
blind  channels  under  water.  But  Mr.  Hayward  was  by 
this  time  quite  as  much  in  earnest  as  Owen  himself. 
The  instinct  of  saving  life,  which  comes  upon  all  of  us  in 
any  great  crisis,  had  got  the  better  of  him  involun- 
taiily.  He  couldnt  let  that  boy  drown,  be  ho  traitoi 
or    no    traitcr  —  Owen,    his    own    Owen,    his    heart's 


'HOC  ^RAT  IN  VOTIS  Sif 

fondest  pride,  his  disciple  and  his  friend,  the  ehil^ 
that  was  ten  thousand  times  nearer  and  dearer  than  a 
son  to  him.  With  the  mad  energy  of  despair,  he  dived 
and  plunged  through  the  greedy  eddies,  letting  the 
current  suck  him  under  and  toss  him  up  again  as  it 
would,  but  filled  all  the  while  with  one  devouring 
thought — the  absolute  necessity  for  bringing  back  Owen. 
He  had  sent  him  like  a  criminal  to  his  death — his  own 
dear,  dear  boy ;  and  now  the  deed  was  done,  he  would 
have  given  his  own  life  a  dozen  times  over  to  bring  him 
back  again  in  safety. 

At  last,  by  a  miracle  of  keen  vision,  such  as  occurs  at 
supreme  moments  to  high  nervous  organizations,  he 
caught  sight  of  a  dark  object  far  below  in  the  water — 
down,  down,  deep  down,  carried  along  in  full  torrent. 
His  heart  throbbed  at  the  sight.  Diving  once  more  with 
all  his  force,  he  plunged  under  and  clutched  at  it.  Owen, 
half  conscious  still,  half  insensible  with  tbe  cold,  tried  to 
■lip  from  his  grasp — that  was  a  point  of  honour.  He 
struggled  to  be  free,  and  to  drown.  With  an  effort  he 
eluded  the  eager  hand  that  clutched  him,  and  went 
under  a  second  time,  borne  headlong  by  the  rapids. 
*  Oh  God !  he's  drowning  I'  Yet  again  Mr.  Hay  ward 
dived,  again  caught  him  by  the  collar,  held  him  firm  at 
arm's  length,  and  brought  him  out — chilled,  inert,  and 
motionless — to  the  surface.  This  time  Owen's  eyes  were 
fast  shut ;  his  cheeks  were  deadly  white,  his  lips  looked 
deep  blue,  his  chest  and  lungs  moved  not.  Mr.  Hay- 
ward  had  hard  v;ork  to  hold  him  up  with  one  hand — a 
seemingly  lifeless  corpse — above  the  water's  edge,  while 
with  the  other  he  struck  out  fiercely  for  the  high  bank 
beyond  him. 

It  was  a  hopeless  struggle.  How  could  he  think  to 
reach  land?  Numbed,  damped,  and  half  drowned,  with 
that  listless  dead  weight  poised,  all  prone,  on  the  water's 
brim  in  front  of  him,  Mr.  Hayward  plunged  and  fought, 
and  battled  slowly  on  with  what  life  was  left  in  him,  and 
felt  all  the  while  the  water  sucking  him  down — irresis- 
tibly down — towards  thh  race  of  the  paper-mill.  He  was 
losing  ground  each  minute,  and  gasping  hard  now  for 
breath.    Tha  water  ailed  his  ears,  his  nostrilai  his  throat. 


M-. 


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He  eoulcl  hardly  hold  up  against  it.  7et,  in  an  agony  of 
dsspair,  he  still  bore  Owen  aloft,  and  ktipt  the  lad's 
mouth  just  a  hair's  breadth  above  the  surface  with  snper- 
human  energy. 

He  couldn't  have  endured  one  minute  longer.  He  felt 
himself  going ;  his  eyes  closed  mistily.  But  just  then,  as 
he  gasped  and  plunged,  and  knew  all  was  up,  a  voice 
rang  clear  from  ten  yards  in  front : 

'  Keep  him  aloft  their,  maister.  We're  almost  .on  'im. 
That's  right  1   Catch  the  pole  I  You  'ang  on.  I'll  *ook  "im.' 

Mr.  Hayward  looked  up,  and  saw  dimly  before  him 
two  men  in  a  punt,  one  holding  out  a  pole,  while  the 
other  lunged  towards  them  with  a  friendly  boat-hook. 

The  drowning  man  seized  the  pole  eagerly,  and  still 
clutching  Owen's  coat-collar,  put  the  boat-hook  through 
and  through  it,  and  let  the  men  in  the  punt  haul  their 
burden  in  carefully.  Then  he  scrambled  into  the  boat 
himself,  and,  dripping  from  head  to  foot,  sat  down  in  the 
bottom,  cold,  wretched,  and  shivering. 

'  Is  he  dead  ?'  he  asked  in  a  hollow  voice,  and  with 
chattering  teeth,  feeling  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  like 
an  actual  murderer. 

One  of  the  men  turned  Owen  over  w  ith  that  irreverent 
carelessness  so  characteristic  of  his  class  in  dealing  with 
a  corpse — or  what  they  believe  to  be  one. 

'  Drowned,  I  take  it,'  he  answered,  feeling  the  motion- 
less pulse  and  then  the  silent  heart.  '  Not  a  stir  or  % 
stroke  in  'im.  Anyhow,  he  ain't  breathing  just  now,  as 
I  can  feel.  But  there's  no  knowing  with  these  'ere  cases 
o'  wot  they  call  suspended  animation.  Bringin'  'em 
back  again  to  life,  that's  more  like  wot  it  is.  We'll  take 
him  down  to  mill,  and  see  wot  we  can  do  with  'ioL* 

Mr.  Hayward  bent  over  the  pale  face,  all  horror-struck 
in  heart  at  this  too  terrible  success  of  his  scheme  and  his 
orders. 

<  Oh,  don't  say  he's  dead  t'  he  cried  aloud,  wringing 
his  hands.  'Don't  tell  me  he's  drowned  I  You'll  brT'k 
my  poor  heart  worse  than  it's  broken  already  if  yon  tell 
me  that.    Oh,  Owen,  Owen,  Owen,  Owen  I' 

The  second  man  looked  on  with  that  curious  philo- 
sophical oalin  that  belongs  to  the  waterside. 


•HOC  BRAT  IN  VOTIB' 


*We  seed  the  dingey  a-coming  down-stream  boliom 
Hpward/  he  volunteered  slowly,  punting  away  as  he 
spoke ;  '  and  I  says  to  George,  says  I,  "  Why,  George, 
that's  Wilcox's  dingey,  surely  1*'  And  George  he  says  to 
me,  "  That's  so,"  says  he,  "  Jim.  Somebody's  upset, 
for  certain."  And  then  come  the  canoe,  turned  topsy- 
turvy, as  you  may  term  it;  and  says  I  to  George, 
"  Blest,"  says  I,  "  if  it  ain't  them  folks  up  to  Wilcox's  I 
Don't  know  how  to  handle  a  boat,  seems — not  a  bit  they 
don't.     Gone  clean  over  lasher."    So  I  went  out  with  the 

{rant,  and  I  up  with  the  pole,  and  comes  down  on  the 
ook-out  for  savin'  a  Ufe,  thinkin'  at  least  to  earn  a 
honest  suweria.' 

Mr.  Haywaid  was  in  no  mood  just  then  to  reflect  to 
himself  upon  the  man's  frank  sordidness  of  nature.  He, 
who  knew  men  and  women  so  well,  could  feel  no  surprise 
at  such  utter  callousness.  But  he  was  too  full  of  his  own 
grief  to  find  room  for  anything  else.  He  only  cried  aloud, 
in  a  perfect  paroxysm  of  remorse  and  wounded  affection : 

*  If  you  can  bring  that  boy  to  life  again,  you  shall  have 
—not  a  sovereign,  but  fifty  guineas  I' 

The  man  Jim  raised  his  head,  and  opened  his  mouth 
•nd  eyes.  He  could  hardly  boUeve  hia  earii  H« 
repeated  slowly : 

*  Fifty  guineas  I' 

But  the  other  man  cried  hastily : 

*  Pole  ahead  to  the  mill,  Jim.  He've  got  some  life  in 
him  still.'  He  felt  the  cold  heart  carefully.  *  We  might 
bring  him  to  yet,  with  brandy  and  blankets  and  such. 
Pole  ahead  for  dear  life  I  'Tain't  every  day  o'  the  week 
one  gets  the  chance  o'  earnin'  fifty  guineas  t' 

Obedient  to  the  word,  Jim  poled  ahead  with  a  will, 
Mr.  Hayward  still  crouciiing  cold  on  the  bare  floor  of  the 
punt,  and  leaning  over  Owen,  who  lay  calm  and  white 
as  a  corpse,  with  open,  sightless  eyes  turned  staringly 
upward.  In  a  minute  or  two  they  reached  the  staithe, 
or  little  millside  landing-place.  The  two  men  jumped 
out,  and,  with  no  more  ceremony  than  they  would  have 
used  to  a  bale  of  wastepaper,  lifted  Owen  between  them. 
Mr.  Hayward  followed  them  into  the  mill-keeper's  house. 
There,  all  in  »  moment  was  confusion  and  bustle^    The 


1 


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I. 


ly  VNDBR  SBAI^BD  ORDERS 

inmates,  well  used  to  such  scenes,  gol  to  wor&  imrne* 
diately. 

<  There's  fifty  guineas  on  it,  mother,  Jim  murmured 
to  his  wife,  and  the  woman  nodded. 

They  brought  down  blankets  in  hot  haste,  and,  strip- 
ping off  Owen's  wet  clothing,  laid  him  down  in  them,  well 
warmed,  before  the  kitchen  fire.  Then  they  poured 
brandy  down  his  throat,  and  began  to  move  his  arms  up 
and  down  with  a  measured  motion. 

'  Begular  way  to  bring  'em  to,'  the  man  said  calmly. 
*  Same  as  you  breathe  yourself,  on'y  slower.  Fill  the 
lungs  each  go.    Directions  of  the  Boyal  'Umane  Society.' 

For  twenty  minutes  they  rubbed  and  chafed,  and 
worked  his  arms  continuously.  Mr.  Hayws>rd,  loosely 
wrapped  himself  in  the  mill-keeper's  ulster,  sat  with 
chattering  teeth  looking  on  in  blank  despair.  Owen  was 
dead,  dead,  dead  I  and  all  was  worse  than  lost  to  him  t 

He  had  meant  to  let  the  boy  drown,  and  then  go  over 
himself,  as  if  he  had  been  accidentally  lost  in  trying  to 
save  his  companion.  But  that  Owen  should  die,  and 
that  he  should  survive  him  Uke  this — that  was  unutter- 
able, unspeakable,  too  wholly  ghastly  and  crushing  I 

*  I've  murdered  him  t  I've  murdered  him  I'  he  cried 
to  himself  in  Bussian,  many,  many  times  over,  wringing 
his  numb  hands  wretchedly  beside  the  white,  motionless 
body. 

But  the  men  worked  on,  meanwhile,  taking  no  notice 
of  his  groans,  with  mechanical  persistence  and  strange 
perseverance.  Fifty  guineas  were  at  stake,  and  you  never 
really  can  tell  when  a  body's  drowned  I  They  moved 
the  arms  up  and  down  in  long,  measured  swing,  to  make 
artificial  breathing,  many  minutes  after  Mr.  Hay  ward 
bad  given  up  all  for  lost  and  relapsed  into  hopeless  and 
speechless  misery. 

At  last,  all  at  once,  after  one  vigorous  movement,  a 
tigh,  a  flutter  in  the  breast,  a  strange  gasp,  a  start, 
then — 

'  He's  breathing  I    He's  breathing  I' 

Mr.  Hayward,  thrilled  through  at  the  words,  looked 
down  at  him  in  breathless  and  eager  anxiety.  The  bare 
bosom  was  heaving  and  falling  now  onoe  mon. 


AN  UNHAPPY  APOSTATE 


»33 


'Brandy  I  brandy  I'  cried  the  man  George,  and  Mr. 
Hayward  passed  it  to  him. 

Another  long  interval,  and  Owen  opened  his  eyes. 
Mr.  Hayward  fell  on  his  knees  in  a  wild  transport  of 
joy. 

'  Thank  heaven  I'  he  cried  fervently  in  Bussian  once 
more.     '  Then  I  haven't  murdered  him  I' 

And  Owen,  gazing  dimly  through  a  vague  mist  of 
faintnesB,  seemed  to  see  his  friend's  face  held  anxiously 
over  him.    He  raised  his  white  hand. 

'Mr.  Hayward^Mr.  Hayward,'  he  said:  'Ion4— 
lend  r 


CHAPTER  XXXVn. 

A>  UMHAPPT  APOBTATflo, 

Affbb  the  tragedy  of  it,  the  comedy.  There's  nothing 
on  earth  more  absurd  than  the  drowned  rat  of  the 
proverb.  Wet,  cold,  and  wretched,  Mr.  Hayward  sat  on 
shivering,  and  watched  for  an  hour  or  two  beside  the 
mde  trestle  bed  they  made  up  in  haste  for  the  lad  he 
had  tried  and  intended  to  murder-— or,  at  least,  to  aid  and 
abet  in  a  concerted  suicide.  The  woman  at  the  paper- 
mill  urged  him  to  return  at  once  to  the  Wilcoxes'  and  get 
dry  clothes  and  food ;  he'd  catch  his  death  o'  cold,  she 
said,  in  them  nasty  damp  things;  but  Mr.  Hayward 
wouldn't  hear  of  moving  from  Owen's  bed  till  he  was 
certain  of  his  recovery.  The  lad,  after  his  breathing  was 
once  fairly  restored,  fell  shortly  into  a  deep  sleep  that 
lasted  some  hours.  And  all  the  time  while  he  slept  Mr. 
Hayward  sat  watchful  and  attentive  by  his  side,  and 
bent  over  him  tenderly. 

Slowly  Owen  recovered,  thanks  to  a  splendid  con- 
stitution. The  drowning  itself  wouldn't  have  hurt  him, 
the  doctor  said,  but  for  the  cold  and  the  shock;  his 
dangerous  symptoms  were  those  of  a  nervous  crisis. 
And  he  was  ill  from  the  strain.  They  moved  him  two 
days  later  from  the  paper-mill  to  the  inn,  where,  under 
good  Mrs.  Wilcoz't  moUierly  oart,  he  made  gradual  pro- 


I 


i 

I 


m 


1 


III 


^i!;;i 


'>m 


nil 


n* 


VNDBR  SBALBD  ORDBR8 


gross.  To  the  people  in  the  village,  of  course,  it  was  only 
the  oommon  and  familiar  hoat  accident.  *  Yoting  fellow 
like  'im  ought  to  a'  knowed  by  this  time  how  to  manage 
a  oanoe ;  an'  a  did,  too,  oome  to  that ;  o'ny  the  old  un 
missed  his  tip  and  went  over  lasher,  and  the  yonng  un, 
tryin'  to  save  un,  got  upsot  hisself  and  went  flounqerin' 
about  after  un  in  the  ice-cold  water.  Them  currents  do 
set  strong  by  they  floodgates  above  paper-mill.  Easy 
enough  to  drownd  one's  self  there,  even  at  the  best  o' 
times,  let  alone  in  freezin'  cold  winter  weather.' 

The  day  after  the  '  accident '  Mr.  Hay  ward  despatched 
ft  penitent  telegram,  nominally  to  Sacha,  but  really,  of 
eourse,  to  lond.  '  Owen  upset  in  canoe  in  the  river  and 
nearly  drowned.  I  helped  to  rescue  him.  He  is  now 
reoovering  and  doing  very  well.  Gome  down,  if  you  like, 
with  lond  to  nurse  him.' 

That  same  night,  needless  to  say,  the  two  girls  were  by 
his  side.  lond  met  Mr.  Hayward  with  a  natural  look  of 
tlie  profoundest  suspicion.  But  Mr.  Hayward,  ever 
gentle  and  courteous  as  of  old,  half  disarmed  her  wrath 
at  onee  by  taking  her  aside  and  into  the  next  room,  and 
holding  her  hand  in  his  while  he  said  to  her  frankly  : 

*  Little  daughter,  I  love  him  as  if  I  were  his  own 
father.  And  for  his  sake  I  love  you,  too,  lond.  If  only 
von  knew  all,  you  would  know  I  was  really  trying  to  save 
nka.  But  when  it  came  to  the  point,  I  couldn't  stand  it 
myself,  and,  even  against  his  own  will,  I  was  compelled 
to  rescue  hiin.  Though  now  that  I've  rescued  him,  the 
original  danger  still  stares  me  in  the  face.  lond,  it's  not 
me.  It's  assembled  Bassia.  I've  saved  him  from  one 
death,  only  to  hand  him  over  in  the  end  to  another  and 
ft  worse  one.' 

loni  looked  at  him  aghasi  It  was  more  than  she  could 
vnderstand. 

*  Mr.  Hazard,'  she  said,  not  unkindly,  for  who  could 
be  angry  with  the  man  7 — he  had  such  suffering  on  his 
face,  such  infinite  remorse  and  pain  in  his  weary  eyeballs 
— *  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it  all  I'm  a  simple 
English  girl  at  heart,  in  spite  of  my  Greek  and  Norwegian 
blood,  brought  up  in  London  and  in  a  country  village, 
ftadl  ean'l  grasp  all  theva  strange  things  when  I  find 


AN  UNHAPPY  APOSTATB  Hg 

myself  brought  face  to  face  with  your  Sassiui  Nihlliim. 
This  mystery  appals  me.  You  must  tell  me  whftt  it 
all  means.  Wtat  is  this  strange  danger  that  haags  over 
Owen  ?• 

Mr.  Hayward  paused  and  gazed  at  her.  He  was  hold- 
ing her  hand  still — that  soft,  round  little  hand,  with  the 
dimples  at  the  joints — and  he  smoothed  it  with  his  own, 
very  gently  and  tenderly.  They  were  contrasted,  those 
two  hands,  like  Russia  and  England.  Burio  BrassojOTe 
was  thin,  hard,  iron-looking,  virile ;  lond  Dracopoli'i 
was  delicate  and  rounded,  and  the  soft  flesh  stood  out  on 
it,  dimpled,  so  that  it  yielded  to  the  touch  like  a  padded 
book-cover. 

*  My  daughter,'  the  stem  man  said  slowly  in  his  silverf 
voice,  'you're  the  only  person  ahve — man,  woman,  c« 
child — who  ever  yet  penetrated  the  secret  of  my  existence. 
And  now,  I  suppose,  in  time  you'll  be  Owen's  wife.  What 
use  in  concealing  from  you  what  you  must  know  here- 
after ?  Sooner  or  later  I  must  have  an  explanation  with 
Owen— must  tell  him  the  difficulties  that  lie  in  my  way, 
and  the  means  I  shall  use  or  try  to  use  in  the  effort — tne 
hopeless  effort — to  meet  and  avert  them.  When  that 
explanation  comes — lonS,  it's  promising  a  great  deal ;  iff 
breaking  all  the  vows  and  oaths  by  which  our  society  is 
bound ;  it's  exposing  the  secrets  of  the  Cause  to  a  woman 
and  an  outsider — but  ...  I  trust  you  so  much,  you  shall 
be  present  and  hear  it.' 

He  said  it  with  such  an  aur  of  distinguished  honour 
conferred  that  lonS  herself  couldn't  help  feeling  deeply 
complimented. 

<  Thank  you,'  she  said  in  reply.  '  But,  Mr.  Hayward, 
one  thing.  You  must  answer  me  that,  or  how  can  I  hold 
your  hand  ?  Did  you,  or  did  yon  not,  upset  him  into  the 
water  V 

Mr.  Hayward  withdrew  his  hand  quickly,  as  if  he  had 
been  stung.  His  face,  already  lined  and  pallid  with 
suspense,  showad  every  sign  of  acute  pain  at  the  hart 
suggestion. 

'  Ion6 1'  he  cried,  drawing  back.  •  Oh,  how  could  you  ? 
How  can  you?  How  much  you  misunderstand  me  il 
you  think  such  a  question  worth  asking  1    How  moeh 


i  m 


'h  li 


3 


m 


■.ui 


H 

-4 1 


'^  li 


i 


iqs  under  seai^bd  orders 

joa  misnnderstani  him  if  yon  think  saoh  a  step  would 
ever  be  necessary  i' 

'  r^hen  he  tried  to  drown  himself  of  his  own  accord  V 
lond  exclaimed,  bridling  up'and  deeply  stirred  with  horror. 

*  Wait  and  ask  him,'  Mr.  Hay  ward  answered.  *  He'll 
be  better  soon.  He'll  be  able  to  tell  you.  All  I  can  say 
myself  just  at  present  is  this  :  If  I  advised  him  to  take 
such  an  unhappy  course,  it  was  only  to  save  him — and 
you,  too,  through  him — from  greater  pain  and  worse  dis- 
grace in  the  end,  from  which  I  don't  know  now  how  I'm 
ever  to  save  you.' 

lond  looked  at  him  fixedly.  The  man's  drawn  face  was 
wrong  by  despair  and  evident  anguish.  She  gave  her  band 
onoe  more. 

*  I  believe  you,  Mr.  Hayward,'  she  said  simply.  Some- 
how, it  was  impossible  to  be  near  that  strange  being  and 
not  to  sympathize  with  him  for  the  moment.  He  had 
tried  to  drown  her  Owen — of  that  lond  felt  sure ;  and  yet 
— and  yet  he  had  done  it,  she  vaguely  recognised  herself, 
in  no  unfriendly  spirit.  He  might  be  a  murderer,  per- 
haps; but,  at  least,  he  was  a  murderer  with  the  best 
possible  intentions. 

It  was  dreadful  for  simple  English  people  like  her 
and  Owen  to  get  mixed  up  with  these  incomprehensible 
and  too  complex  Bussian  revolutionists.  Yet  what  could 
they  do  ?    He  was  born  to  it ;  it  was  his  destiny. 

Mr.  Hayward  stroked  his  face  with  one  inscrutable 
hand.  There  was  blank  despondency  in  the  action. 
lonS  felt  it,  and  was  sorry  for  him.  Then  he  paced  up 
and  down  the  room  once  or  twice  in  silence.  At  last  he 
spoke  again.  His  words  came  in  a  rush  like  a  summer 
torrent. 

'  My  chilc^.,'  he  said,  bursting  forth,  '  •'.  you  knew  all, 
▼ou  would  pity  me.  Ah,  yes,  you  would  pity  me — oh, 
now  you  would  pity  me  I  A  fortnight  ago  I  saw  myself 
within  measurable  distance  of  the  realization  of  the  hopes 
of  a  lifetime.  I  was  glad.  I  was  exultant.  I  was  full  of 
joy  and  triumph.  At  that  very  moment  when  I  wrote  to 
Owen  to  tell  him  of  our  great  good  luck — to  bid  him 
rejoice  with  me,  to  assure  him  of  victory — there  came  in 
letnm  luoh  a  knock-down  blow  thai  I  thought  no  blow 


AN  UNHAPPY  APOSTATE 


937 


on  earth  coald  ever  be  hard3r — no  fate  more  terrible. 
Fortune,  I  said  to  myself,  had  done  the  very  worst  she 
could  possibly  have  in  store  for  me.  My  cup  was  dashed 
down  as  I  held  it  to  my  lips.  Owen,  my  own  boy,  whom 
I  loved  more  dearly  than  I  loved  my  life — for  whom  I'd 
sacrificed  everything — whom  I'd  watched  and  guarded 
and  taught  since  he  was  a  baby  in  arms,  just  able  to  lisp 
his  own  name  in  Eussian — Owen,  Owen  went  back  upon 
me.  It  was  he  and  no  other.  He  told  me  that  for 
the  love  of  a  girl  he'd  wrecked  our  hopes  and  plans 
irretrievably.  .  .  .  And  did  I  hate  that  girl  for  it  ?  .  ,  . 
No,  loni,  no ;  for  Owen's  sake,  I  loved  her — and  I  Ic  ^e 
her.' 

He  laid  his  hand  like  a  father  on  the  loose  chestnut 
curls.  lonS  felt  a  thrill  run  responsive  through  and 
through  her.  The  man's  eye  wes  as  one  inspired.  His 
lip  quivered  convulsively.    He  went  on  yet  more  quickly. 

'  That  was  bad,  little  daughter,'  he  said,  still  fondling 
the  chestnut  curls — and  lone  hadn't  the  heart  even  to  try 
to  prevent  him.  *  That  was  bad.  That  was  a  fall,  a 
relapse,  a  backsliding.  Still,  though  my  soul  was  broken, 
I  had  one  thing  left — and  that  was  Owen.  All  my  hopes 
for  hir .  were  gone — crushed,  annihilated,  shattered.  But 
Owen  himself — and  only  Owen — was  left.  The  boy,  not 
tb«^  liberator;  my  son,  not  my  instrument.  ...  I  had 
hoped  for  a  Messiah  who  would  free  poor  Eussia.  I  was 
left  with  a  dear  child — a  mere  handsome  young  English- 
man. But  I  loved  him  still.  Oh,  lone,  how  I  loved  him  I 
As  the  hopes  within  me  fell,  crushed,  so  the  affection! 
quickened.  I  said  to  myself :  "I've  loved  Eussia  like  a 
fanatic  all  my  weary  long  life,  but  Owen  and  Eussia  have 
grown  so  intertwined  and  mixed  up  in  my  ideas — so  cne 
in  my  inmost  soul — so  indistinguishably  blended — that 
noWj  oh  Godl  I  don't  know  which  is  which."  I  love 
Owen  in  the  end  even  better  than  Eussia.  There  he 
stands — concrete,  visible — a  definite  tangible  Somebody 
for  one's  heart  to  take  hold  of.  I  love  him  with  all  my 
BouL  Wheu  it  came  to  the  pinch,  I  couldn't  bear  to  lose 
him.' 

He  paced  up  and  down  once  more.  Then  he  retomad 
to  her,  all  on  firo,    His  eyes  glowed  terribly. 


i 


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m 


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M 


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I'i  ;,' 


i 


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^ 


ITNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


*  lond/  he  cried  in  his  despair,  '  I  can't  tell  yoa  all  now. 
It  would  burn  my  very  heart  out.  But  this  much  I  will 
tell  you — let  Owen  tell  the  rest.  I  felt  if  he  must  die  I 
could  never  outl've  him.  Not  a  day,  not  an  hour,  not  a 
minute,  not  a  second.  He  was  part  of  my  life — a  limb  of 
my  body.  Oh,  lone,  it's  sin,  it's  blasphemy  to  say  so ; 
but  I  found,  when  I  put  it  to  the  touch — oh,  shame  I — I 
found  ...  he  was  far  more  to  me  than  even  Russia.  I 
fancied  to  myself  I  had  lived  all  my  life  for  Russia  alone ; 
but  I  found  that  day  my  boy  was  far  more  to  me  in  the 
end  than  even  Russia. 

'  They  would  kill  him.  They  would  torture  you. 
They  would  keep  you  in  suspense  for  months  and 
months,  lonS.  Better  an  easy  death  for  him  at  my 
hands  than  that.  Or  not  even  at  my  hands — at  hia 
own ;  but  beside  me,  in  my  company.  I  meant  him  to 
go  over  first.  I  meant  at  once  to  follow  him ;  but  when 
I  saw  him  drowning,  and  was  drowning  myself,  my  heart 
failed  within  me.  I  couldn't  bear  to  permit  it.  Let 
them  do  what  they  would,  I  must  save  Owen's  life  for 
the  moment — for  you.  I  must  prolong  it  as  much  as  I 
could.  I  must  bring  my  boy  back — for  a  time — to  the 
girl  that  loved  him.' 

*  Thank  you,'  lonfi  said  low. 

In  some  dim,  distinctive  way  she  was  beginning  now 
to  anderstand  him. 

Mr.  Hayward  clasped  his  hands  hard  in  unspeakable 
horror. 

'  But  that's  not  all  yet  I'  he  cried.  '  We're  not  out  of 
the  trouble.  As  I  said  to  you  in  Victoria  Street,  so  I  say 
to  you  still — ^we're  only  beginning.  I  must  put  my  wits 
to  work  now — for  what  do  you  think,  lend  ?  Why,  to 
nndo  my  life's  work,  to  annul  my  life's  plans,  to  prevent 
the  success  of  my  own  elaborate  precautions!  I  had 
arranged  everything  beforehand,  so  that  a  terrible  punish- 
ment should  fall  upon  myself  or  upon  Owen,  as  the  case 
might  be,  if  either  of  us  forgot  our  troth  or  proved  untrue 
to  our  engagements.  I  had  made  it  as  sure  as  any  sen- 
tence of  any  court  on  earth  could  be  made  Bure.  Now  I 
must  brace  myself  up  to  see  whether  and  how  I  can 
■hatter  my  own  hopes  and  destroy  my  ovrn  handiwork 


BAD  NEWS  FROM  K1BP9 


•» 


.  .  •  And  I  fear  it's  impossible.  I  laid  my  plans  too 
deep ;  I  dug  my  pit  too  widely.  ,  .  But  for  that,  and 
for  that  alone,  I  must  live  in  future.  .  .  Oh,  lond,  dear 
child,  see  the  extremity  of  degradation  to  whioh  you  two 
have  reduoed  me:  I  meant,  if  need  were,  to  sacrifice 
Owen  to  Bussia;  I  mean  now,  in  the  end,  to  sacrifice 
Russia  to  Owen.' 

He  bent  his  head  down  between  his  arms  in  an  agony 
of  shame  and  remorse  at  that  painful  confession.  To  him 
it  was  apostasy.  Ion§  couldn't  be  angry  with  him  now. 
His  case  was  too  miserable.  He  had  tried  to  play  an 
abstraction  against  his  human  alfections ;  and  the  human 
affections  had  proved  in  the  long-run  a  great  deal  too 
■trong  for  him. 


lil 


CHAPTER  XXXVin. 

BAD    HBW8    VBOM    XIBFV. 

Two  or  three  days  later  Owen  was  well  enough  to  b« 
removed  to  the  flat  off  Victoria  Street.  Mr.  Hayward 
went  up  to  town  with  him  in  a  saloon  carriage,  and  the 
new  invalid  was  put,  when  he  arrived  there,  into  Black- 
bird's bedroom.  Round  the  wall,  as  a  fitting  decoration, 
Blackbird  had  painted  with  her  own  hands  a  poetical 
inscription — four  favourite  lines  of  hers  from  Swinbome'f 
*  Hymn  to  Proserpina ' : 

*  Thon  Art  more  th»n  th«  d*j  o«  th«  morrow,  the  MMona  HmM  kMgh 

or  that  we«p ; 
For  theae  give  joy  »nd  sorrow — but  thoa,  Froserpiiuk,  ileep. 
Thou  art  more  than  the  godi  who  number  the  days  of  oar  temporal 

breath ; 
Tor  these  give  labour  and  slumber — but  thoa,  Proierpuw,  deatk* 

Owen  watched  them  all  the  morning  from  the  bed  where 
they  laid  him,  but  in  the  afternoon  he  was  allowed  to 
move  on  to  the  drawing-room  sofa.  Not  that  he  was 
really  ill — severe  as  the  shock  had  been,  his  vigorous 
eonstitution  had  recovered  from  it  ooiokly — bat  Mr. 
fiayward,  always  devoted  to  his  ward,  mm  tm  oarefol 


iffj 


^■it 


VP 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


I  iV- 


over  him  now  as  a  hen  with  one  chicken.  Kvon  lonl 
herself  had  no  causa  to  complain  of  any  want  of  con- 
sideration on  Mr.  Hayward's  part  for  Owen's  safety  and 
Owen's  absolute  comfort.  He  fussed  about  as  if  his  life 
depended  on  making  Owen  well,  and  keeping  him  so 
always.  He  had  but  one  thought  in  life  now — his  boy's 
happiness,  which  included,  of  course,  lone's. 

And  Eussia — poor  Eussia  ?  Well,  Eussia  was  crushed 
and  pressed  out  within  him.  An  awful  blank  reigned  in 
her  place  in  his  heart.  His  face  was  one  picture  of 
despair  and  dejection. 

But  the  urgent  need  now  was  to  provide  for  Owen's 
safety.  That  care  weighed  hard  on  Mr.  Hayward's  soul. 
For  he  had  pl-rned  beforehand  against  Owen's  life  by 
every  means  in  liis  power. 

The  very  day  after  they  arrived  at  Victoria  Street,  he 
sent  Blackbird  and  Sacha  out  into  the  park  for  a  walk, 
that  he  might  have  time  for  a  private  talk  with  lon^  and 
Owen. 

So  strange  a  talk  few  drawing-rooms  in  Pimlico  can 
ever  have  listened  to. 

He  began,  and  told  them  the  truth  from  the  very 
beginning.  One  only  fact  he  suppressed  —  his  own 
identity  with  Euric  Brassoff.  All  the  rest  he  told  them 
in  full — making  a  clean  breast  of  it,  as  it  were,  both  to 
Owen  and  lone.  He  told  them  all  he  knew  about  the 
St.  Petersburg  Selistoffs ;  how  he  had  rescued  the  two 
children,  twenty  years  since  and  more,  at  the  risk  of  his 
own  life,  and  smuggled  them  out  of  Wilna  ;  how  he  had 
brought  them  to  England,  and  placed  them  with  Miss 
Cazalet  as  their  mother's  half-sister ;  how  he  had  come 
back,  three  years  later,  and  struck  that  strange  bargain 
on  those  mysterious  terms  with  poor  unconscious  Aunt 
Julia;  and  how  he  had  supported  Owen  ever  since  in 
every  comfort  and  luxury  on  Nihilist  money. 

There  he  paused  and  wiped  his  brow. 

*And  that  money  itself,'  he  said  slowly,  in  very  re- 
morseful tones,  *  do  you  think,  my  children,  I  got  it  for 
nothing?  Do  you  think  there  was  no  security,  no 
collateral  guarantee  for  it  ?  Ah,  that's  not  the  way  we 
of  the  circle  went  to  work  on  our  undertakinga.     All  waf 


BAD  NEWS  FROM  KIEFF 


241 


arranged  and  audited,  as  if  it  were  public  fuuds,  with  the 
minutest  accuracy.  Part  of  it  I  earned  myself,  to  be 
sure,  and  contributed  willingly  out  of  my  own  abundance, 
for  Mortimer  and  Co.  has  always  been  a  paying  business. 
But  part  of  it  came  frjm  Russia — poor,  bleeding  Russia 
— from  trusty  friends  of  the  Cause  in  Petersburg  or 
Moscow ;  and  for  that  guarantees  were  both  given  and 
exacted.  Three  persons,  besides  myself,  know  on  whom 
the  fund  was  spent.  One  of  them  is  in  Paris ;  the  two 
others  are  in  Russia.' 

*  And  do  they  alone  know  of  your  plans  ?'  Owen  asked, 
in  breathless  suspense,  from  the  sofa  where  he  lay. 

'  Not  they  alone.  No  ;  many  subscribers  to  our  circle 
know  the  main  outline  of  the  facts  ;  they  know  we  were 
bringing  up  a  young  man  in  England — Sergius  Selistoff's 
son — to  follow  in  his  father's  footsteps  as  a  martyr  to 
Russia.  More  than  that — they  know  also  that  Sergius 
Selistoff's  son  was  to  obtain  some  post  in  a  foreign  capital 
whence  he  might  strike  a  great  blow  at  the  curse  of 
Russia.  But  what  they  don't  know ' — and  Mr.  Hayward 
lowered  his  voice  confidentially — '  what  they  don't  know 
is  this — the  assumed  name  and  present  address  of  Sergius 
Selistoff's  son,  for  whom  they  have  done  so  much,  and 
from  whom  they  expect  such  marvels.  Three  people 
alone,  besides  myself  and  you  two,  knew  that  secret  till 
lately ;  four  know  it  now  I  Madame  Mireff  is  one  of  them ; 
the  others,  of  course,  are  wholly  unknown,  even  by  name 
and  fame,  to  you.' 

'  Madame  Mireff  is  a  friend !'  lond  exclaimed,  with 
womanly  instinct. 

'  Perhaps  so.  Who  knows  ?'  Mr.  Hayward  answered, 
bowing  his  head  in  a  sudden  access  of  shame.  '  If  I 
have  fallen  away,  who  may  not  fall  away,  for  personal 
motives,  from  poor  helpless  Russia  ?  But  each  of  the  other 
three  holds  in  his  possession  a  sealed  envelope.  That 
sealed  envelope  contains  his  orders.  It  is  to  be  opened, 
in  each  case,  on  either  of  two  contingencies — my  death, 
or  if  for  three  months  the  holders  receive  no  communica- 
tion on  the  subject  of  the  fund  from  me.  And  if  I  myself 
fail  to  show  them  in  three  months  from  this  time  that 
SergiuB  Selistofi'B  gon  is  in  a  fair  way  to  follow  out  tlia 

16 


M 


t  '\ 


3 


»4> 


TJNDER  SEAIvED  ORDERS 


■ii 


teaohingB  I  have  bestowed  upon  him  —then  the  holden 
of  those  three  envelopes  are  bound  by  solemn  oath  never 
to  r<^st  in  their  beds  till  they've  taken  vengeance  on  the 
traitor — on  you,  Owen  Oazalet.' 

There  was  a  silence  ii  the  room.  Mr.  Hayward  still 
bent  bis  head.  Then,  at  last,  with  a  burst  of  inspiration, 
lond  spoke. 

'  Can't  you  get  those  envelopes  back  ?'  she  asked. 
'Can't  .  .  .  the  Russian  police  .  .  .  since  Owen  won't 
act  .  .  .  help  you  to  get  them  back  again  ?' 

The  two  men,  in  their  utter  horror,  started  unanimously 
from  their  seats  and  gazed  at  one  ano\iher,  Bpeechless. 
Owen  was  the  first  to  find  words. 

*  What  I  betray  them,'  he  cried,  '  for  one's  own  base 
life,  to  the  spies  of  the  Czar — these  men  who  hav-s  be- 
friended me  1  Save  ore's  neck  by  hand'  ig  them  o'iei  to 
the  mines  of  Siberia  I  Oh,  lone,  you  can't  have  realised 
what  your  words  really  mean.  Better  death,  ten  thousand 
times  over — an  honest  man's  death — than  such  perfidy 
as  that  I  I  can  die  if  I  muut ;  but  sell  my  oomrades — 
never  I* 

Mr.  Hayward  Itdd  his  hand  on  the  younger  man's 
shoulder.    His  face  was  flu-^hed  with  pride. 

'  Owen,  my  boy,'  he  said  gravely,  •  1  see  you  haven't 
forgotten  quite  all  that  1  tau,<^ht  you.  I've  a  plan  of  my 
own,  though,  far  better  than  lonS's.  No  treaohery ;  no 
apostasy.  I  shall  try  what  I  can  do  with  the  holders  of 
those  envelopes.  I  mean  to  preserve  you,  if  it's  possible 
to  preserve  you,  without  treason  to  the  Cause.  You  know 
yourself,  if  our  men  were  once  well  on  your  track,  no 
power  on  earth  could  save  your  life.  All  the  strength  of 
the  Empire  didn't  avail  to  save  Alexander  Nicolaievitch. 
But  I  shall  go  off  myself  at  once,  first  k>  Paris,  then  to 
Kieff,  then  to  Moscow  and  Petersburg.  I'll  see  these 
three  men ;  I'll  endeavour  to  get  from  them  those  in- 
criminating documents.  No  human  soul  but  ourselves 
shall  ever  know  who  was  Sergius  BelistofPs  son.  If  J 
die  for  it  myself,  I  shall  get  the  sealed  orders  back  frove 
them.' 

Owen  seized  his  friend's  arm. 

•To  Kieff~to  Moscow!'   he  oried,  aghast,   kucwiog 


BAD  NEWS  FROM  KIEFP 


843 


well  what  the  words  meant.  '  You  won't  surely  expose 
yourself?    No,  no  I    Not  in  Russia.' 

•Yes,  in  Russia,'  Mr.  Hayward  answered,  with  a 
calmly  dogged  face.  '  For  twenty  years  I've  avoided  my 
country  for  my  'country's  sake.  I  had  hoped  so  to  save 
her.  Now  thobo  hopes  are  all  wrecked ;  for  your  saKe 
I'll  revis'c  her.  I'll  not  rest,  day  or  night,  till  I've  got 
the  pcprrs  back  again.  .  .  .  No,  don't  try  to  stop  me. 
To  Russia  I'll  go,  Owen,  though  all  the  spies  in  Peters- 
burg should  know  I  was  going  there,  though  all  the 
devUs  in  hell  should  conspire  to  prevent  me.' 

Again  there  was  a  pause. 

Then  Mr.  Hayward  spoke  once  more. 

'  I  brought  you  into  this  scrape,'  he  said,  *  and  I  must 
Bee  you  well  out  of  it,  if  that's  still  possible.  Owen,  my 
boy,  I  admit  I  did  wrong.  You  were  a  child  when  I 
made  this  bargain  on  your  account.  Now  you're  a  man, 
and  can  see  what  it  all  means,  and  know  how  to  choose 
for  yourself,  you've  a  right  to  back  out  cf  it.  Even  if  I 
give  up  my  life  to  release  you  from  the  bargain  you  never 
wittingly  made,  it  may  be  of  no  avail.  But  I  will  give  it 
up,  if  need  be.     I'll  do  my  best  to  protect  you.' 

Owen  took  his  hand  warmly. 

'  Dear,  dear  Mr.  Hayward,'  he  said,  with  profound 
emotion,  '  don't  trust  yourself  in  Russia  on  my  account, 
I  beg  of  you,  I'd  rather  let  this  fate  hang  over  me, 
whatever  it  may  be,  than  think  for  a  moment  you  should 
80  risk  and  expose  yourself.' 

But  he  had  to  reckon  with  a  woman  as  well. 

lond  rose  passionately,  and  flung  herself  upon  Mr. 
Ha;  ward's  nock.  Then  she  spoke  out  with  tremulous 
hasto. 

'  No,  no,  Mr.  Hayward,'  she  cried,  quivering,  and 
clinging  to  him  in  her  earnestness.  '  You  owe  it  to  him. 
It's  your  duty.  I,  who  love  him,  ask  you  to  go.  You 
owe  it  to  me,  too.  He's  mine  more  than  yours.  You 
admit  you  did  wrong.  You  must  be  just,  then,  and  pro- 
tect him.' 

Mr.  Hayward,  unwinding  her  arms,  took  her  hand  in 
his  own,  still  grasping  Owen's  with  the  other  on& 

'  Yes,  I'll  go,  my  children,'  he  answered.    '  My  Ufe'i 


M4 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


wrecked.    I  have  but  one  hope,  one  wish  on  earth  now 
— to  make  you  two  happy.' 

*  And  while  you're  gone,'  Owen  said  gravely,  '  I,  too, 
shall  have  a  task  to  perform — to  set  about  earning  my 
own  livelihood,  at  last,  and  repaying  the  Cause  all  I  owe 
to  Eussia.' 

Mr.  Hay  ward  was  just  aboat  to  answer  something, 
when  a  ring  at  the  bell  roused  lonS  automatically. 
As  housemaid  of  the  flat,  she  rushed  out  to  answer  it. 

*  A  telegram  for  you,  Mr.  Hayward,'  she  said,  returning. 
He  tore  it  open  on  the  spot  and  read  it  eagerly. 

'Jnst  Arrived  across  the  German  frontier.  Couldn't 
oommunicate  before.  Am  returning  now  post-haste  to 
England.  Very  serious  news.  Ossinsky  arrested  ten 
days  ago  at  Kieff.  All  is  known,  except  the  English 
name  of  Sergius  SeUstoff's  son.  That  they  can't  find 
out;  but  the  danger  is  great.  Smuggle  him  away  at 
onoe,  for  heaven's  saka 

'Olqa  Mirepf.* 

Mr.  Hayward  handed  it  Across  to  them  without  ont 
word  of  comment. 

lond  looked  blankly  At  it,  while  Owen  read  aloud  the 
secret  cipher. 

Mr.  Hayward  stood  awestruck.  As  soon  as  they'd 
finished,  he  said  but  a  few  words,  with  blanched  and 
trembhng  lips. 

'I  must  go  this  evening.  .  .  .  Ossinsky  was  one  ol 
theml' 

*  To  Moscow  ?'  Owen  asked. 

'  No  ;  first  of  all  to  Paris.  Onoe  I  get  to  Bussia,  I 
may  never  come  back  again  ;  so  I  must  settle  Paris  first. 
But  there's  no  time  to  be  lost.  I'll  telegraph  to  Olga  to 
Await  me  in  Berlin,  and  I'll  start  lor  Paris  this  verj 
•▼•ning,' 


' 


FORTUNE'S  WHBBL 


•43 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

fortune's   WHEEIw 

True  to  his  word,  Mr.  Hay  ward  left  that  evening  by  the 
night  mail  for  Paris.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  a  blank 
foil  upon  the  party.  After  the  cumulative  excitement  of 
the  last  few  weeks,  it  seemed  almost  impossible  for  them 
to  settle  down  once  more  to  the  humdrum  routine  of 
every-day  life — the  '  domestic  round  of  roast  and  boiled,' 
as  Blackbird  loved  to  call  it.  -Conversation  languished  ; 
platitudes  failed;  common  events  seemed  tame;  even 
lone's  bright  heart  felt  the  lack  of  some  more  pressing 
stimulus.  They  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  feverish 
suspense  of  Nihilistic  life ;  this  long  waiting  for  news 
from  Paris,  Kieff,  or  Moscow  struck  them  as  dull  and 
monotonous  after  those  pungent  episodes  of  the  lasher 
anu  the  sealed  envelopes.  Only  the  doubt  as  to  the 
future  kept  them  on  the  qm  vive  now ;  would  Mr.  Hay- 
ward  succeed  or  fail  in  his  momentous  enterprise  ? — that 
was  the  question. 

Meanwhile,  however,  Owen  began  to  realize  still  more 
definitely  and  clearly  than  ever  that  he  ought  to  be  doing 
something  for  his  own  livelihood.  It  was  impossible  he 
could  any  longer  depend  upon  Mr.  Hayward ;  still  mere 
impossible  that  he  could  draw  further  on  Aunt  Julia's 
scanty  private  income.  So  he  settled  down  for  the 
time  in  Sacha's  rooms,  intent  on  the  favourite  and 
indispensable  operation  of  looking  about  him.  But  look- 
injT  about  one,  though  a  very  good  occupation  in  its  way 
as  a  change  from  overwork,  is  a  mode  of  life  that  soon 
wearies  and  sates  a  vigorous  young  intelligence. 

Owen  found  it  unsatisfactory  in  the  very  first  week, 
and  longed  for  some  more  active  and  remunerative  em- 
ployment. Yet  he  might  have  gone  on  indefinitely  look- 
ing about  him  all  in  vain  for  months  together — so 
thronged  with  suitors  is  every  gate  in  London — but  for 
an  accident  that  occurred  a  few  days  later  to  Trevor 
Gardener. 

They  were  sitting  one  afternoon  in  the  drawing-room 


m 


UNDBR  SKALBD  ORDBRS 


; 

i  i,|! 

1 

i 


of  the  flat,  lond  and  Owen,  very  absorbed  and  moody, 
thinking  over  the  chances  of  Mr.  Hajrward's  mission  and 
the  reason  of  his  silence — Sacha  working  away  at  '  cook- 
ing' a  sketch,  Blackbird  hanging  over  the  piano  and 
trying  a  chord  or  two  at  a  time  in  the  throes  of  composi- 
tion— when  a  latch-key  turned  quickly  in  the  front-door 
of  the  suite,  and  Trevor  Gardener  looked  in,  deadly  white 
and  terrified. 

'  Is  Sacha  here  ?'  he  asked,  holding  the  door  ajar.  '  I 
beg  your  pardon  for  coming  like  this,  but  I  want  to  Bpeak 
with  her.' 

Sacha  rose,  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

'  Come  into  the  studio,'  she  said,  trembling  enddenly. 
And  Trevor  Gardener  followed  her. 

As  they  reached  the  room,  he  shut  the  door,  and 
looked  at  her,  fixed  and  white. 

'  Oh,  Sacha,'  he  said  abruptly,  taking  her  hand  in  his 
own,  '  how  lucky  it  was,  the  other  day,  after  all,  you 
didn't  accept  me  I' 

'Why  so?'  Sacha  asked,  glancing  up  into  his  face 
trustfully,  and  letting  her  hand  lie  in  his,  for  she  had 
learned  by  this  time  to  love  him  with  all  her  heart. 
'Oh,  Trevor,  what's  the  matter?  Something  dreadful 
has  happened.' 

'  No,  nothing  very  dreadful,'  the  young  man  answered, 
with  blanched  lips  that  belied  his  words.  '  At  least,  noi 
when  you  are  accustomed  to  it.' 

'But  why  lucky?' 

'  Well,  Sacha,  just  for  thia  excellent  reason — and  I'm 
10  thankful  you  said  no  to  me.  Because  if  you'd  said 
yes,  you'd  have  accepted  a  beggar.' 

Sacha  laid  one  soothing  hand  on  his  shoulder  and 
smiled.  Yes,  positively  smiled.  Such  a  thing  it  is  to  be 
born  a  Bussian,  or  half  one.  Those  people  have  no  idea 
of  the  importance  of  money. 

'  Something  gone  wrong  in  the  City  ?'  she  asked,  ilmosl 
pleased,  as  it  seemed  to  him. 

Trevor  Gardener  winced  and  nodded. 

•  Yes,  something  gone  wrong,'  he  said  ;  '  no,  everything 
gone  wrong,  rathei:.  And  so  terribly — so  terribly.  You 
could  never  understand  it.     My  partner,   Wilson— oh 


FORTUNE'S  WHEEI# 


HI 


Baclia,  such  a  blow  I  not  for  myself,  I  don't  mean — not 
for  myself,  of  course,  but  for  our  clients  who  trusted  us  I' 

'What  has  he  done?'  Sachs,  asked,  with  a  strange 
feeling  in  her  throat  which  was  certainly  not  altogether 
either  sympathy  or  sorrow. 

•Done?'  he  answered,  gasping.  'What's  he  done? 
Why  everything.  What's  he  not  done's  more  like  it. 
Embezzled,  mismanaged,  over  -  speculated,  gambled, 
falsified  accounts,  stolen  clients'  money,  invented  ima- 
ginary stocks  for  country  clergymen  and  confiding  old 
ladies,  committed  every  crime  a  rascally  partner  could 
possibly  be  guilty  of.  It  only  came  out  this  morning. 
And  now  he's  gone  away,  leaving  a  note  behind  to  tell 
me  he  means  to  cut  his  own  throat,  and  shuffling  upon 
me  the  responsibility  of  meeting  the  firm's  engagements.' 

'  Has  he  any  private  means  I'  Saoha  asked,  anxious  to 
know  the  worst  at  once. 

'  Not  a  penny,  as  far  as  I  can  learn.  He's  gambled 
away  everything.  All  his  own  stocks  are  gone,  and  his 
wifu's  and  his  father-in-law's.  As  for  his  house  at  Wim- 
bledon, that's  a  drop  in  the  bucket.  I  haven't  realized 
the  full  extent  of  his  defalcations  as  yet.  But  at  the 
Tery  best — and  fresh  things  are  turning  up  every  minute 
— my  capital  and  investments  must  go  to  cover  it,  and 
even  then  the  firm  will  be  hopelessly  bankrupt.  Ten 
■hillings  in  the  pound  will  be  the  outside  dividend.' 

Sacha  gazed  at  him  undismayed. 

*  Then,  you're  a  poor  man  now,  Trevor,'  she  cried,  flash- 
lag  crimson.   '  You  haven't  a  penny  to  bless  yourself  with.' 

'  Not  a  penny  to  bless  myself  with,'  Trevor  responded 
grimly 

In  a  tumult  of  passionate  joy,  Saoha  flung  her  anni 
round  his  neck. 

'  Dear  Trevor  I'  she  murmured  very  low  '  Then,  al 
last  I  may  love  you  t' 

'  May  love  me  ?'  Trevor  echoed,  amazed. 

*  Yes,  and  marry  you  now,  Trevor.' 

She  said  it  tenderly,  joyfully,  with  deep  eamestnest  in 
her  quivering  voice. 

Trevor  gazed  at  her  and  sighed  She  was  a  wonderful 
woman. 


y 


'n 


m 


it 


i  i-i 


i'l-.' 


'!lM 


•4B 


UNDER  SEAIvED  ORDERS 


*  Bat  why  now,  if  not  before,  Saoha  ?'  ha  asked,  i^tl 
bewildered. 

To  him,  good,  solid,  sober-minded,  commercial  English- 
man, this  blow  had  seemed  like  a  death-knell  of  all  his 
hopes  in  life.  He  had  been  thankful  for  one  thing  only 
-  that  Sacha  hadn't  accepted  him. 

But  Sacha,  for  her  part,  still  clinging  to  him  in  her  joy, 
said  firmly  and  resolutely  ; 

*  Before,  you  were  rich,  dear ;  and  I  wouldn't  marry  a 
rich  man,  on  whom  I  must  be  dependent.  Now  you're 
poor — oh,  so  poor ;  why,  much  poorer  than  myself — and 
I  can  marry  you  to-morrow  with  no  loss  of  my  pride  ;  for 
I  am  making  a  bigger  income  every  month  of  late, 
Trevor ;  and  if  you  can  put  up  with  small  things,  why, 
we'll  marry  at  once,  and  you  may  begin  life  over  again.' 

The  young  man  started  back  in  dismay. 

'  Oh  no,  darling  1'  he  cried,  astonished.  '  How  could 
I  ever  do  that  ?  I'm  a  man ;  you're  a  woman.  You  said 
to  me  that  day  on  the  downs  at  Moor  Hill  you  wouldn't 
marry  anyone  who  was  richer  than  yourself,  because  you 
didn't  want  to  be  like  the  women  who  sell  themselv3s  for 
the  pittance  of  a  livelihood.  Your  creed  was  the  perfect 
equality  of  the  sexes,  and  you  wouldn't  go  back  upon  it. 
"Well,  then,  if  you,  who  are  a  woman,  couldn't  be  depen- 
dent upon  a  man,  how  can  I,  who  am  a  man,  be  depen- 
dent upon  a  woman?' 

He  said  it  manfully,  honestly,  with  big  open  eyes. 
Sacha  paused  a  moment  and  reflected ;  his  argument 
caught  her  napping.  She  drummed  her  fingers  on  the 
table  to  assist  her  thought.  At  first  hearing,  this  cer- 
tainly sounded  like  a  genuine  dilemma.  Yet  she  knew  it 
wasn't  insuperable.  Then  slowly,  by  degrees,  she  felt 
her  way  out  of  it. 

'  No,  it's  not  quite  the  same,'  she  said  in  her  dehberate, 
logical  fashion.  '  The  cases  aren't  parallel ;  and  I'll  tell 
you  the  difference.  Women  till  now  have  all  been 
naturally  dependent  upon  men ;  it's  been  taken  for 
granted  they  must  be  paupers  and  hangers-on.  And  each 
of  them  has  been  dependent  upon  a  particular  man — his 
slave  and  his  chattel.  That's  a  system  I  hate,  and  I 
doa't  want  to  porpetuatt  it,     Ther^^Qre  I  stood  out 


FORTUNE'S  WHEEt 


949 


fcgainsfc  marrying  a  man  much  richer  than  myself — eren 
though  I  loved  him — beside  whose  wealth  my  little  earn- 
ings would  be  as  nothing  in  the  family.  That  was  my 
womanly  pride.  It's  quite  different  with  men.  They've 
no  inequality  to  redress,  no  principle  to  vindicate.  If  a 
woman  can  help  them  at  a  pinch  to  re-establish  their 
fortunes,  why  not  avail  themselves  of  the  chance,  and 
make  her  happy  ?' 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  a  tender  look,  with  those 
great  trustful  eyes  of  hers,  as  she  said  the  last  words. 
In  spite  of  bankruptcy  and  ruin,  Trevor  Gardener  thrilled 
through  and  through  at  her  touch  as  she  raised  his  hand 
to  her  lips,  and  laid  her  head,  all  unbidden,  in  the 
hollow  of  his  shoulder. 

•  Trevor,'  she  murmured  once  more,  very  low  and  soft, 
*  you  were  ready  to  marry  me  when  you  were  rich  and 
successful  and  could  have  given  me  everything  that  heart 
can  desire.  See — I  ask  you  myself  to-day — won't  you 
mp.rry  me  now  you're  poor  and  distressed  and  dis- 
heartened, and  let  me  fight  the  battle  of  life  with  you  for 
your  help  and  comfort  ?' 

It  wasn't  in  human  nature  that  Trevor  Gardener  at 
such  words  shouldn't  bend  down,  enraptured,  to  kiss 
those  liquid  eyes,  swimming  with  rare  tears,  and  those 
thoughtful  thin  lips,  held  appealingly  up  towards  him. 

*  Sacha  darling,'  he  said  with  a  burst,  smoothing  her 
hair  with  his  hand,  *  if  for  a  moment  I  say  no  to  j'ou, 
trust  me,  it  isn't  that  I  love  you  less — it's  that  I  respect 
you  more.  I  can't  bear  to  be  a  drag  upon  you,  to  make 
you  share  my  poverty.  I  wanted  to  marry  you  that  I 
might  find  you  such  luxuries  and  let  you  live  in  such 
comfort.  But  now  I  should  only  hinder  you.  And  I 
can't  bear  to  say  yes  to  you — though  you  ask  me  bo 
sweetly.' 

'  You  shall  say  yes,*  Sacha  answered  with  fervour,  all 
the  latent  passion  and  earnestness  of  her  half-Bussian 
nature  coming  out  in  full  force  at  this  faltering  opposi- 
tion. '  I  love  you,  Trevor,  I  love  you,  and  you  shall  say 
yet  to  me.  I  want  to  fight  thi  i  battle  with  you ;  I  want 
to  retvieve  this  loss ;  I  want  to  be  of  use  to  you — a  pillar, 
A  BttuT,  A  prop,  to  help  you.     Money  1     Why,  darling, 


ri' 


',< 


n» 


UNDBR  SEALED  ORDERS 


when  yon  were  rich  I  couldn't  I  ar  to  take  yon,  among 
other  things,  because  I  don't  know  whether  it's  right  for 
some  of  us  to  have  so  much,  when  others  have  so  little. 
I  was  shocked  and  afraid  when  you  told  me  how  many 
thousands  you  made  a  year.  But  if  you're  poor  now,  I 
want  you,  I  long  for  you,  I  ask  you,  I  must  have  you  I' 
She  flung  her  arms  wildly  round  his  neck  once  more,  and 
burst  into  a  sudden  flood  of  fiercely  passionate  tears. 
He  could  hardly  believe  this  was  Sacha.  The  pent-up 
emotion  of  months  found  full  vent  all  at  once.  'Oh, 
promise  me  you'll  take  me,  darling  I'  she  cried,  clinging 
to  him  with  all  her  soul.  *  Promise  me — promise  me 
yon'U  take  me — you'll  marry  me  V 

Trevor  Gardener  was  a  man  ;  and  men  usually  find  it 
difficult  to  say  no  to  anything  when  a  woman  asks  them 
outright  for  it.  And,  besides,  he  loved  her.  He  loved 
ftnd  admired  her  with  ail  his  heart  and  soul.  Yet  even 
BO,  he  tried  hard  for  a  moment  to  stand  out,  for  manly 
dignity's  sake. 

'  When  this  bankruptcy's  arranged,'  he  said  feebly, 
pressing  her  to  his  breast — a  bad  moment  for  negotiations. 
'When  .  .  .  I've  retrieved  my  position  a  bit,  Sacha. 
When  I  can  earn  an  inccme.' 

'  No,  now,*  Sacha  cried  fervently — that  placid  Sacha — 
flinging  herself  upon  him  at  last  with  the  utter  self- 
abaudonment  of  a  good  woman  in  a  crisis  that  demands 
it.  '  Now  at  once,  just  as  things  stand.  You  must  I 
You  shall,  Trevor  I  To  show  my  confidence  in  you,  your 
trust  in  me  I  Not  a  day  mast  we  wait  I  To-morrow  1 
To-morrow  I' 

It  was  some  minutes  before  they  went  back  to  the 
others  in  the  drawing-room.  When  they  did  so,  Sacha's 
dignified  face  was  flushed  and  red  with  not  unbecoming 
blushes,  and  she  wore  in  her  breast  a  single  drooping 
gardenia,  the  very  last  gardenia  Trevor  Gardener  was 
ever  to  buy  for  his  own  adornment.  As  she  entered  the 
room,  both  lonS  and  Blackbird  noticed  the  unwonted 
token,  and  glanced  at  it  significantly  with  inquiring 
•yes. 

'  What  does  it  mean  7  Sacha  said,  interpreting  their 
ttaspoken  thoughts  aright,  and  answering  them  frankly. 


'GOODuBYE— FOR  EVERP 


•5J 


*  It  means  that  dear  Trevor's  been  ruined  by  his  partner's 
dishonesty — and  that,  therefore,  there's  no  leason  why 
he  and  I  shouldn't  be  married  as  soon  as  ever  we  can  get 
the  banns  published.' 


I  i 


CHAPTER  XL. 

•good-bye — FOR   EVER  I' 

A  bankruptcy's  a  long  and  weary  business,  and  before 
Trevor  Gardener  was  well  out  of  the  wood  a  good  many 
things  had  had  ti:  le  to  happen. 

Among  others,  a  day  or  two  later,  a  short  note  came 
for  Owen,  in  cipher,  from  Mr.  Hay  ward  at  Paris.  It 
said  simply  this : 

'  With  great  difficulty,  my  dear  boy,  I've  succeeded  in 
recovering  the  first  of  the  sealed  envelopes  from  my 
trusted  friend  over  here,  but  only,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  by 
a  transparent  ruse,  which  he  resents  intensely.  This 
may  greatly  embarrass  us.  He  knows  or  guesses  from 
my  action  that  Sergius  Selistoff's  son  must  have  re- 
fused his  trust  or  gone  back  upon  his  bargain,  and 
that  I'm  trying  now  to  cover  his  retreat  by  counter- 
acting my  own  most  elaborate  precautions.  My  fear  is, 
therefore,  that  he  may  write  to  my  other  friend  at 
Moscow,  to  warn  him  of  my  defection ;  in  which  case  the 
em'slope  may,  perhaps,  be  opened  before  I  reach  there. 
If  so,  my  boy — I  can't  conceal  the  facts  from  you — you 
are  simply  doomed.  But  I  will  hope  for  the  best.  Give 
my  love  to  lone.  I  start,  if  possible,  for  Eussia  to- 
morrow. These  may  be  the  very  last  lines  you  will  ever 
receive  from  your  affectionate  and  penitent  friend  and 
gaardian, 

'Lambert  Haywabd/ 

Owen  received  this  letter  with  very  mingled  feelings. 
It  was  satisfactory  as  far  as  it  went,  no  doubt,  that  one 
more  chance  of  Nihilist  revenge  should  be  curtailed  or 
destroyed;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  deep  sense  of 
being  a  traitor  to  the  Cause  itself,  and  of  having  induced 


UNDER  SEAI.ED  ORDERS 


even  Mr.  Hayward  tc  tnrn  traitor  too,  sat  heavily  upon 
him.  His  one  consolation  lay  in  the  thought  that  lonfi 
was  pleased,  and  that  she  felt  perfect  confidence  in  Mr. 
Hay  ward's  powers  to  prevent  further  mischief  when  once 
he  got  to  Bussia. 

Even  before  Trevor  Gardener's  bankruptcy,  however, 
had  been  finally  di;  sed  of,  it  was  fully  settled  that  the 
penniless  stockbroker  was  to  marry  Sacha  at  once,  and 
after  their  marriage  he  and  Owen  were  to  start  a  new  busi- 
ness together — at  first  in  Owen's  name  alone,  on  a  scheme 
that  Sacha  had  long  been  turning  over  in  her  head — a 
co-operative  picture-dealer's,  for  selling  works  of  art  on 
joint  terms  with  the  artists.  Sacha  was  prepared  out  of 
her  little  savings  to  find  at  once  the  preliminary  capital ; 
and  as  rooms  were  obtained  in  connection  with  Mr. 
Hayward's  premises  in  Bond  Street,  they  had  good  hopes 
at  the  start  of  a  successful  venture.  Sacha  had  a  large 
acquaintance  among  painters,  both  men  and  women,  and 
chose  with  care  the  co-operators  who  were  to  share  their 
attempt.  Trevor  Gardener,  on  the  other  hand,  had  a 
large  acquaintance  among  the  picture-buying  class,  whom 
he  could  influence  by  his  judgment,  while  Owen's  strik- 
ing appearance  and  fame  as  an  athlete  might  attract 
from  the  outset,  they  hoped,  out  of  pure  curiosity,  a 
certain  amount  of  custom.  Nor,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
were  they  disappointed.  This  is  an  age  of  well-bred 
commercial  ventures.  The  business  from  the  very  first 
was  a  decided  success ;  and  before  many  months  were 
over,  when  Trevor's  affairs  were  settled,  they  found 
themselves  already  making  a  tolerable  profit. 

Nor  did  Trevor's  affairs  turn  out  quite  so  black  in  the 
end  as  he  at  first  had  f<  ared.  True,  the  assets  didn't 
cover  more  than  sixteen  shillings  in  the  pound  ;  but  that 
was  better  than  the  ten  of  his  earliest  calculations  ;  and 
when  all  was  over,  the  ruined  man  made  up  his  mind 
bravely  to  begin  life  over  again,  and  work  hard  for  re- 
habilitation till  he  could  return  his  creditors  in  full  the 
deficit  caused  by  his  partner's  dishonesty.  Meanwhile, 
he  and  Sacha  were  married,  after  all,  and  took  up  their 
ftbode  together  in  a  flat  off  Victoria  Street. 

Nol  fo  long  after,  it   occurred   casually   to   Henley 


•GOOD-BYE— FOR  EVERf 


•53 


Btokes  one  morning  at  Pump  Court  to  stroll  round  ouce 
more  for  a  further  appeal  to  Blackbird's  feelings.  This 
Bhilly-shallying  irked  him.  If  marriages  were  to  be  the 
order  of  the  day  in  the  phalanstery  of  the  flat — hang  it 
all . — why  shouldn't  he,  too,  bear  his  part  in  the  modest 
pageant  ?  So,  dressing  himself  very  spick  and  span  in  hia 
best  frock-coat,  with  the  usual  orchid  neatly  pinned  in 
bis  buttonhole,  he  sallied  forth  to  Victoria  Street,  deter- 
mined this  time  that  Blackbird  should  explain  herself 
and  the  mysterious  reason  why,  though  she  loved  him, 
she  wouldn't  marry  him.  He  would  be  put  oJBf  with  no 
subterfuges ;  he  must  get  at  the  very  core  of  his  lady- 
love's objection. 

His  touch  at  the  electric  bell  was  answered,  as  usual, 
by  lon^,  all  in  her  morning  dress. 

*  Is  Blackbird  at  home  ?'  the  young  man  asked  eagerly. 

*  Well,  yes,'  lone  admitted,  in  somewhat  dubious 
tones.  *  But  I  don't  quite  know  whether  she'll  see  you 
or  not.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Henley,  just  of  late 
Blackbird's  been  down — in  very  bad  spirits.' 

*  What  about  ?'  Henley  asked,  with  a  most  com- 
miserating face. 

'  Oh,  I  can't  say,  I'm  sure  1'  lone  answered,  not  qidte 
so  sympathetically  as  Henley  Stokes  could  have  wished. 
'  It's  a  way  she  has,  sometimes.  Blackbird  wouldn't  be 
happy,  don't  you  know,  if  she  wasn't  miserable.' 

This  was  paradoxical,  but  true  ;  and  Henley  admitted 
its  force. 

'  There  are  no  fresh  laurel-leaves  just  now,  you  see,'  he 
said,  musing  slowly  to  himself.  *  I  always  thought,  lone. 
Blackbird  was  never  so  well  pleased  or  so  comforted  in 
soul  as  when  she  was  busy  making  those  investigations 
on  laurel-leaves  and  the  infusions  she  got  out  of  them.' 

lone  was  less  interested  in  the  subject  than  the  young 
man  from  Pump  Court.  She  led  the  way  listlessly  into 
Blackbird's  laboratory. 

*  Here's  Henley  I'  she  said,  with  a  brusque  opening  of 
the  door.  Blackbird  gave  a  little  start,  and  popped  a 
bottle  she  was  fingering  into  the  cupboard  at  once  in  a 
somewhat  flurried  manner.  But  she  stepped  forward, 
flushing  up  rather  more  than  was  her  wont. 


it 


«< 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


li 


'  Oh,  how  kind  of  you  to  come  round  I'  she  said,  taU'^g 
his  hand  and  tremblJn^j;. 

Henley  Stokes  seated  himself,  and  drew  his  chair  ii<^ar 
hers.  For  awhile  he  to.lked  nervously  about  varions 
general  subjects,  screwing  up  courage  all  the  time  for  the 
final  plungp.  At  last,  when  Blackbird  unconsciously 
gave  hirn  a  good  lead  for  the  remark,  he  went  on  wist- 
fuUj: 

'  Well,  that  was  just  what  I  came  round  about  to-day, 
do  you  know.  You  remember,  Blaolibird,  that  morning 
last  summer  when  I — when  I  spoko  to  you  so,  and  you 
were  so  very,  very  kind  to  me  ' — Blackbird  nodded  petu- 
lantly— 'you  remember,  you  said  we  could  never  be 
engaged?  Well,  I've  come  round  to-day  to  ask  you 
plainly  why  ?  I'll  take  no  excuse  You  must  answer 
me.  Blackbird ;  I  won't  go  away  till  you've  answered 
me.' 

As  he  said  those  words.  Blackbird  clenched  her  thin 
fingers  hard  and  drove  the  nails  into  her  palm.  Then 
■he  looked  up  at  him  almost  defiantly. 

*  Oh,  Henley  I'  she  cried,  holding  her  breath,  and  half 
olosing  her  big  black  eyes,  *I  thought  I  told  you  then  it 
was  inipcssible  impossible.  Why  do  you  want  to  re- 
open it  ?  All  those  times,  ever  since,  when  I've  seen  you 
from  day  to  day,  i'u's  been  so  sweet  to  me  to  think  you 
really  cared  for  me,  that  I've  gone  on  clinging  to  liis — 
clinging  to  life  in  spite  of  myself.  I  thouj^ht  you  loved 
me  too  well  to  go  worrying  me  with  love.  Don't  spoil  it 
ftll  now  by  ask'ug  such  horrid  questions  I' 

The  yonn,^  man  bent  over  her  tenderly.  He  couldn't 
onderstand  her,  but  indeed  he  loved  her  1  How  sweet 
and  frail  she  looked  I  like  some  dehcate  piece  of  fine 
Dresden  china. 

•  But  I  can't  help  it,  darling  !'  he  murmured,  dropping 
his  voice  qui*-e  low,  and  looking  deep  into  her  dark  eyes 
ihrough  the  fringe  of  half-dosed  iaslies.  'All  these 
times,  as  you  say,  I've  put  it  off  and  olf,  waiting  anxiously 
from  day  to  day,  fearing  I  might  vex  you  again  ;  till,  now 
Bacha  and  Trevor  are  married,  I  keep  saying  to  my  own 
hearts  Why  not,  theo,  jus*  as  well  myself  and  BladJKi 
bkdr 


i 


•GOOD-BYE-  FOR  EVERf 


»58 


The  words  fell  like  a  match  on  a  heap  o>  fl;f  npoT^der. 

Blackbir(?  opened  her  eyes  snddenly,  and  ^f'ontpd  bini 
with  the  face  of  one  possessed.  Hor  aoce^a  ct  onergy 
frightened  him. 

'  Married  I'  she  cried,  flashing  fire  at  him  from  both 
those  glowing  eyes.  '  Married  1  Married  1  Married  I 
Oh,  Henley  1  I  wonder  you,  who  know  and  love  me  so 
w«ll — for  I'm  sure  you  love  ine — I  wonder  you  don't  see 
for  yourself  the  reason  why  I  can't  be  married !  If  you 
knew  how  you  were  torturing  mo  !  If  you  knew  how 
you  were  killing  met  It's  r  ;(  :iy!  "„gony!  But  there  I 
you're  a  man— strong,  virile,  robusc;  how  should  you 
river  be  able  to  gauge  and  fathom  the  feelings  of  such  a 
girl  as  I  am  ?' 

*  Then,  you'll  never  marry  me.  Blackbird  ?'  Heniey 
oried,  taken  aback,  but  lifting  her  hand  to  his  lips  nono 
the  less,  and  pressing  it  there  tenderly. 

Blackbird  accepted  the  caress  with  passive  acquicG- 
cence.  Nay  more,  she  loved  it.  It  was  sweet  to  her  to 
to  be  loved.  It  made  her  tingle  with  pleasure.  But  for 
all  that,  she  drew  back  as  she  answered  passionately  : 

'  No,  never,  never,  never  1  .  .  .  And  that's  not  all. 
Worse  than  that.  You'v(>  broken  my  dream  now.  For 
days  I've  been  expecting  i :.  Por  days  I've  been  dreadina 
it.  Now  the  thunderbo',c  has  fallen.  I  was  happy  while 
you  were  merely  conteuc  to  love  me.  But  when  you  talk 
of  marriage — Henley,  the  bubble's  burst.  I  can  only 
sleep  away.     My  lil'e's  gone  from  me.' 

She  was  terribly  agitated. 

*  What  do  you  mean?'  the  young  man  cried,  pressinp 
her  hand  still  harder.  '  Oh,  Blackbird,  Blackbird,  don'i 
dismiss  me  without  telling  me  at  least  the  reason.' 

Blackbird  stood  up  and  faced  him.  She  was  deadly 
pale  by  this  time,  and  her  lips  trembled  violently. 

'  I  will  tell  you  the  reason,'  she  answered,  with  » 
esrrible  forced  calm.  '  I  can't  keep  it  from  you  any 
longer.  I  must  out  with  it  or  die.  I  will  tell  you  the 
reason.  Henley,  you're  a  man,  and  you  love  me  as  a 
woman.  But  will  you  have  the  truth  ?  I'm  not  a  woman 
at  all — not  a  woman  in  the  sense  you  mean — not  a 
wcmMi  to  be  loved  as  a  mail  wants  to  loya  her.    I'm 


1     ',: 


256 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


i  I 


in 


only  a  little  girl  grown  up,  that's  all ;  in  brain  and  miml 
and  intelligence  a  woioan,  hn^  in  body  a  child,  no  moid 
lit  to  love  or  bo  loved  in  the  way  you  think  than  a  four- 
year-old  baby.  If  I  love  at  all  it's  with  my  brain,  not 
with  my  heart  or  my  body.  .  .  .  When  you  talk  to  me 
like  a  man  -even  you,  who  are  so  gentle  and  so  patient 
and  so  kind — you  simply  frighten  me.  I  haven't  got  the 
instincts  lon^  and  Sacha  have.  .  .  .  How  could  it  be 
else?  Listen,  here,,  dear  Henley:  I've  thought  of  this 
day  and  night,  till  I  know  what  I'm  speaking  of.  All  the 
woman  that  ever  was  in  me,  or  ought  to  have  been  in 
me,  has  been  educated  out,  crushed  and  killed  by  teach- 
ing. It's  all  gone  off  in  music,  or  mathematics,  or 
chemistry,  or  Greek.  The  rest  of  you  are  creatures  of 
flesh  and  blood.  I'm  not  even  as  you  are.  I'm  all  brain 
and  nerves.  The  flesh  and  blood  are  bred  out  of  me. 
I've  nothing  left  to  love  you  with.' 

'  But  you  do  love  me  1'  Henley  Stokes  murmured  low, 
looking  at  her  still  admiringly. 

*  Yes,  I  love  you.;  my  darling — I  love  you  I'  Blackbird 
cried,  trembling  all  over  with  joy  and  grief,  and  holding 
both  his  hands  in  hois,  and  thrilling  through  to  the 
finger-tips.  '  I  love  you  all  I  can,  and  I  love  you  to  love 
me.  I've  been  happier  these  few  months  than  ever  in 
all  my  life  before.  For  the  first  time  I've  been  happy. 
I've  known  what  joy  meant.  I've  lived,  instead  of  merely 
existing  and  learning.  But  all  the  time  a  black  shadow 
has  disturbed  my  happiness.  I  knew  it  must  come  to 
an  end  at  last — before  long.  I  knew  I  was  deceiving 
you.  .  .  .  For  you  wanted  a  woman  to  love  and  be  Iced 
by ;  and  all  you've  got  instead  is  an  animated  musi  v 
book — the  leavings  and  relics  of  the  higher  education.* 

Henley  turned  to  her  in  a  tremor  of  pity,  and  kissed 
her  white  lips.  Just  that  once,  in  the  exaltation  of  the 
moment,  she  allowed  hini.  She  almost  imagined  she 
could  understand  why  women,  loal  women,  liked  such 
strange  caresses.  The  kiss  coursed  through  and  through 
her,  rousing  vague  echoes  in  her  limbs ;  but  she  felt  it 
was  wrong;  she  felt  it  was  hopeless. 

'  Thote  I  there  I  that'll  do  I'  she  cried,  breaking  down 
half  hysterically,  and  motioning  him  off  with  her  handi, 


'GOOD-BYE— FOR  EVKRP 


»57 


; 


*  Doa't  ask  me  any  more.  Eemember,  this  is  final.  Fve 
been  drilled  and  instructed  from  my  childhood  up  till 
there's  no  power  or  spontaneity  or  life  left  in  me.  To 
love  a  man  as  he  wants  to  be  loved,  you  must  have  flesh 
and  blood.  I'm  a  spirit,  that's  all,  in  a  casing  of  clothes. 
A  voice — and  a  tired  one.  The  only  thing  left  for  me 
now  is  to  close  my  eyes,  if  I  can,  and  sleep  on  for  ever. 
Close  my  eyes,  and  sleep  away,  and  never  wake  up  again. 
For  having  once  known  this,  there's  nothing  more  on 
earth  for  me.' 

She  let  his  hands  drop  short ;  then  just  once,  with  a 
sudden  impulse,  transcending  her  own  nature,  she  ben . 
forward,  glowing  hot,  and  kissed  both  his  wistful  eyea 
with  an  impassioned  pressure. 

*  I  know  what  they  want !'  she  cried,  *  those  dear,  dear 
eyes  ;  and  I  never  oould  give  it  them.  Good-bye,  good- 
bye, kind  friend — the  only  man  on  earth  I  ever  could 
love,  the  only  man  on  earth  who  ever  could  love  me  1 
Good-bye — for  ever  I' 

And  with  a  quick  burst  of  tears  she  rushed  all  at  ono« 
from  the  room  like  a  wounded  creature,  leaving  Henley 
alone,  amazed  and  discomfited. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


LATTBEL-LB  A  VE  S. 

'  Bomb  people  they  tell  me,  are  afraid  of  death.  It  was 
never  so  with  me,  dear  Henley.  It's  life  Pm  afraid  of. 
For  awhile  I  endured  it.  I  can  endure  it  no  longer. 
Good-night,  loving  heart  I  I  hope  I  may  sleep  with  no 
dreams  to  bother  me.' 

Sc  Henley  Stokes  read  next  morning  on  a  postcard,  in 
a  very  firm  hand.  It  was  signed  just  *  Blackbird.'  No 
more  than  those  few  words ;  but  it  made  his  heart  sink. 
He  looked  at  them  and  trcinblod.  Wliat  could  Blackbird 
mean  by  it  ? 

Seizing  his  hat  forthwith,  lie  rushed  out  into  the 
bftrand.    Tl  ere  he  hxii^eol  a  passing  hansom. 

17 


iS8 


UNDER  sba::^d  orders 


DMi'. 


I! 


'  Drive  quick  to  Victoria  Street !' 

He  rang  the  bell  of  the  flat.  Ion 6  opened  the  door, 
bright  and  smiling  as  usual.  Henley's  heart  came  up 
into  his  rnoutli  at  the  siglit  for  joy.  Then  all  was  well, 
("."ter  all !  He  pr&ssed  her  hand  hard.  Blackbird  had 
only  been  terrifying  him.  If  anything  had  happened, 
lone  could  never  look  so  gay  and  cheerful  as  that.  The 
very  light  in  her  merry  eyes  reassured  him  immensely. 

Still,  it  was  in  a  broken  voice  that  he  stamc  ered  out 
the  question : 

*  And  Blackbird — how  is  she  ?' 

*  Blackbird  ?'  lone  answered,  half  alarmed  at  his  gaiety. 
'  Well,  you're  so  early  this  morning,  you  see.  It  isn't 
nine  o'clock  yet.  I'm  only  the  housemaid,  of  course,  so 
it  doesn't  matter  for  me  ;  but  you  can't  expect  the  ladies 
of  the  house  to  be  up  and  dressed,  ready  to  receive 
visitors,  at  such  an  unearthly  hour.  Besides,  when 
Blackbird  went  to  bed  last  night,  she  asked  us  not  to 
call  her — to  let  her  sleep  on.  She  felt  as  if  she  should 
get  some  rest  at  last,  she  said.  She's  been  sleepless 
lately,  and  she  didn't  want  us  on  any  account  to  wake 
her  up  or  disturb  her.* 

Henloy  Stokes's  heart  stood  still  within  him  once  more 
at  those  ominous  words. 

'  Some  rest  at  last  I'  he  cried,  turning  paler  than  ever, 

and  grasping  a  chair  in  his  horror.     '  Some  rest  at  lastl 

Oh,  lono,  didn't  you  guess— didn't  you  know  what  she 

meant  ?    Wo  must  wake  her  up  at  once  I     We  must  go 

uto  her  room  and  try  to  rouse  her  1' 

As  ho  spoke,  he  put  the  postcard  into  lono's  hand  with- 
out one  word  of  explanation.  lono  read  it,  and  broke  at 
once  into  a  sudden  little  cry. 

'  Sacha,  Sac  ha  !'  she  burst  out,  hurrying  terrified  down 
the  passage ;  '  we  must  force  open  the  door !  Oh,  look  at 
it  1  look  at  it  f  Do  you  know  what  this  means  ?  Poor 
Blackbird  liasi  killed  herself  1' 

In  a  moment,  Owen  and  Sacha  had  rushed  out  into  the 
passage,  and  stood  together,  all  tremulous,  in  front  of 
Blackbird's  door.  With  one  blow  of  his  strong  fiat, 
Owen  broke  olT  the  lock-fittings.  It  yielded  instantly. 
They  entered,  husiied  and  awestruck — Owen  first,  then 


\- 


If,: 


?;i 


"SUK    WAH   M.KKl'INO   SOUNDLY-  AT    KKHT   AT   I.AmT."      I'll^'f  ^'SU. 


LAUREI/.I.EAVES 


«9 


Henley  Stokes,  then  lonS  and  Sacha.  As  they  did  bo, 
Owen  started.  Henley  gave  a  sharp  gasp,  and  stood  still 
on  the  threshold. 

Within,  very  motionless,  Blackbird  lay  across  the  bed, 
in  a  simple  black  grenadine  evening  dress,  her  feet  just 
touching  the  ground,  her  head  thrown  on  one  side,  as  if 
listless,  on  the  pillow.  She  was  sleeping  soundly — at 
rest  at  last.  Her  face  was  very  white.  Her  thin  hands 
were  bloodless. 

Owen  was  the  first  to  move  forward,  with  the  solemn 
step  a  death-room  seems  to  call  forth  automatically ;  he 
gazed  hard  at  the  poor  child  as  she  lay  there  in  her  lone- 
liness. She  was  pallid,  but  peaceful.  A  little  foam  at 
the  mouth,  a  slight  blueness  of  the  lips,  were  the  solo 
signs  of  what  had  happened.  Save  for  that,  she  looked 
merely  as  if  she  had  fallen  into  a  very  deep  sleep.  He 
touched  one  hand  reverently  with  inquiring  fingers.  It 
was  cold  as  ice,  but  still  soft  and  yielding. 

By  her  side,  on  a  little  table,  lay  a  corked  bottle. 
Against  it  a  piece  of  paper  was  conspicuously  tilted  : 

•  Don't  touch,  for  Heaven's  sake.  Prussia  acid.  Very 
poisonous.     The  fumes  would  kill* 

They  looked  at  it  appalled,  without  saying  a  word  to 
one  another.  Sacha  took  Owen's  hand  in  hers.  They 
paused  and  gazed  at  the  beautiful  calm  face,  more  beau- 
tiful now  it  was  at  rest  at  last  than  ever  it  had  been  during 
the  weariness  of  living.  Tears  stole  slowly  down  their 
cheeks.  Not  one  of  them  needed  to  ask  why  Blackbird 
had  killed  herself.  They  knew  very  well  already.  The 
wonder  was  rather  why  she  hadn't  done  it  long  ago. 

Weary,  weary  of  a  life  that  was  a  pain  and  a  bitterness 
to  her.  Longing  to  be  at  rest.  Too  tired  to  do  more  than 
lie  down  and  be  well  rid  of  it. 

They  stood  there  long  in  silence,  gazing  mutely  at  one 
another.  Then  Henley  Stokes  stepped  forward,  very 
solemnly  and  reverently,  and  kissed  the  win  to  forehead 
once  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh.  As  he  did  so,  he  saw  a 
little  piece  of  paper  lay  crumpled  up  coiivulsivuly  in  the 
less  conspicuous  hand.  He  drew  it  forth  half  remoiseful, 
as  if  afraid  of  disturbing  poor  Blackbird's  peace.  It  was 
A  twisted  wee  note,  insorioed  in  pencil,  '  For  Henley.' 

He  opened  it  and  read : 


-     f 


I  ill 


ki^k^; 


If' 

h 


I'i' 


eflb 


DKTDER  SEALED  OREERS 


•Three  o'clock,  Wednesday  inenuii§ 
'Just  before  taking  the  poison. 

'Dbaeest  Henley, 

*  You  have  given  me  a  few  short  months  of  th« 
only  happiness  I  ever  knew  in  my  poor  little  life.  But 
of  course  it  couldn't  last.  I  knew  it  was  delusive.  It 
grieves  me  to  think  I  m'"'st  requite  you  so  ill  by  giving 
you  in  return  so  much  needless  sorrow.' 

On  the  centre  table  was  a  longer  letter  in  an  envelope, 
addressed  to  Sacha.  Owen  handed  it  to  her  without  a 
word.  Sacha  opened  it  and  read.  The  rest  looked  over 
her  shoulder  and  loUowed  in  silence. 

'Twelve,  midnight 

«  Deae,  dear,  good  Sacha, 

'  I  write  to  you  most  of  all,  because  I  know  you 
will  best  understand  me.  Henley  understands  me,  too ; 
but,  then,  Henley  knows  so  much  I  needn't  write  to  him. 
So  I  set  down  these  few  words  for  you,  to  be  read  at  the 
inquest.  I  su]  ose  there'll  be  an  inquest.  They  won't 
even  let  a  poor  tired  girl  he  down  to  sleep  when  she 
chooses,  but  they  must  drag  her  out  publicly  to  ask  why 
she  lay  down,  and  what  she  wanted  rest  for. 

'  You  know  I  was  tired,  and  how  hard  I  found  it  to 
keep  awake  at  all.  You  know  how  my  life  was  a  grief 
and  a  burden  to  me.  What  I  wanted  was  just  to  put  my 
hands  behind  my  head  and  fling  myself  down  on  the  soft 
sweet  grass,  with  the  warm  sky  above  me,  and  the 
drowsy  hum  of  the  bees  for  a  lullaby  in  my  ear — to  fall 
asleep  then  and  there,  and  never,  never  wake  up  again  I 
I  couldn't  do  that ;  but  I've  done  what  I  could.  I've 
taken  a  sleeping-draught — or  I  mean  soon  to  take  it.  It's 
a  very  sure  and  certain  one.  It  acts  instantaneously.  I 
made  it  myself.     It's  called  prussio  acid. 

'  Sacha  dear  I  don't  need  to  ^sk  you  to  forgive  me. 
You  understand  me  so  well  you  won't  want  explanation  i. 
But  I'd  like  yoxi  to  explain  how  it  happened  to  the  jury." 
They  won't  understand,  of  course,  those  twelve  dreadful 
men — stolid,  thick-headed,  commonplace.  They'll  say, 
"  i:'bj  was  mad,"  Oh,  Sacha,  don't  let  tliem  call  ma 
thai     I'm  60  sensible,  so  logioaL     It  wonld  pj%  mil  bad 


I 


hAVRTSlrlMAynS 


s6f 


dreRms  in 


bed  under  the 


"f  .1 


green  grass.  Make  them 
Bee  1  was  just  tired.  So  tired,  so  weary,  it  was  uu- 
reasonable  for  me  to  do  anything  else  on  earth  but  fall 
asleep  with  fists  clenched  like  a  drowsy  baby. 

'  For  years  I've  done  nothing  but  learn,  learn,  learn  I 
I  was  worked  from  my  babyhood.  They  said  I  was 
clever,  and  must  develop  my  talents.  When  my  talents 
were  developed,  there  was  nothing  else  left  for  me.  The 
woman  was  dead;  the  brain  alone  remained.  I  could 
compose,  I  could  sing,  I  could  read  and  write  and  reason; 
but  live  or  love  or  enjoy  myself  I  couldn't. 

'  And  I  wanted  to  love.  I  wanted  to  be  loved.  Oh,  I 
wanted  it  so  badly ;  but  don't  tell  them  about  that,  dear. 
Don't  read  that  at  the  inquest.  You  and  Henley  can 
understand.     For  the  rest  of  them,  no  matter. 

'  There  was  only  one  thing  in  life  I  had  energy  left  for. 
I  longed  for  sleep  so  much  that  I  made  my  mind  up 
months  and  months  ago  I  must  have  a  sleeping-draught. 
I  read  up  about  them  all — aU  the  draughts  that  make 
you  sleep  and  never  wake  up  again  ;  most  of  them  were 
slow,  long,  doubtful,  ineffective.  But  I  found  there  was 
one  that  never  failed  or  hung  fire.  That  one  was  prussio 
acid.  I  determined  to  get  some  and  keep  it  by  my  side 
for  use  when  I  wanted  it ;  but  they  wouldn't  let  me  buy 
any.  There's  a  conspiracy  in  England  to  keep  people 
awake  against  their  will,  whether  they're  tired  or  not. 
You  mayn't  buy  a  sleeping-draught,  even  for  use  on  the 
spot ;  so  the  only  way  left  was  for  me  to  make  it. 

'  That  compelled  me  to  learn  chemistry.  I  learned  it, 
and  with  a  will.  I  was  so  tired,  but  I  could  muster  up 
energy  enough  and  to  spare,  if  it  was  to  bring  me  my 
sleeping-draught.  I  worked  away  at  it  hard,  and  soon 
learnt  the  best  plans  for  making  prussio  acid. 

'  Do  you  remember,  all  last  summer,  I  was  always 
messing  about  in  the  laboratory  with  laurel-leaves? 
Well,  laurel-leaves  contain  amygdalin,  and  from  amyg- 
dalin  you  can  distil  hydrocyanic  acid — that's  the  chemical 
narae  of  it.  I  luight  have  made  it  from  drugs,  but  this 
way  was  prettier.  I  distilled  quite  a  lot — enough  to  put 
you  all  to  sleep,  if  you  feel  too  weary.  But  there  I  you 
UAva  health  and  strength,  and  fiesh  and  blood  to  love 


.1  II 


\r  *-' 


•if  tWDBIt  SBALBD  OUDBRS 

with.    YonVe  not  a  ghost,  like  mei    Yon*ta  A  real  live 
woman. 

*  When  you  married  it  made  me  feel  the  difference 
more  keenly  than  ever ;  and  yesterday,  when  Henlev 
asked  me  to  marry  him,  I  said  to  myself,  "  The  end  hus 
come  now.  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer,  this  mockery  of 
life.  I  won't  live,  a  child,  to  be  treated  like  a  woman, 
when  I  know  I'm  a  ghost,  a  phantom,  a  nullity.  I  won't 
spoil  this  dear  man's  life  for  him  by  standing  in  his  way. 
I'll  lie  down  and  rest  at  last;  I'll  take  my  sleeping- 
draught." 

*  I  meant  to  have  taken  it  long  ago,  but  one  thing  put 
me  off.  The  little  spark  of  womanhood  that  was  still 
left  within  me  after  so  much  education  flared  up  in  a 
dying  flicker  when  Henley  was  kind  to  me.  It  made  mo 
feel  how  delicious  it  must  be  to  love  and  be  loved.  Even 
the  vague  little  shadow  of  it  I  could  clutch  at  and  under- 
■tand  made  life  worth  living  for  a  few  short  months  to 
me.  Only,  I  knew  I  was  wrong.  I  knew  I  was  sacri- 
ficing that  dear  kind  heart  to  a  child's  empty  fancy. 
Yesterday,  with  a  breath,  the  bubble  burst;  and  I 
thought,  for  his  sake,  and  for  my  own  rest's  sake,  I  must 
be  done  with  it  all  now,  and  take  my  sleeping-draught. 

'  I  shall  take  it  at  three  o'clock,  with  a  thought  for  you 
alL    Good-bye,  dear  heart. 

'  Your  a£feotionate 

'  Blackeird.* 

Henley  flung  himBeU  in  a  chair  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands. 

'  Poc>r  child,  poor  child  1'  he  cried  aloud.  *  And  to  think 
I  should  have  killed  her  I' 

SauUa  bent  over  the  pale  corpse  with  big  tears  in  her 
•yes. 

'  Not  you,  not  you,  dear  Henley,'  she  said,  gazing  at  it ; 
'but  her  parents  and  teachers.' 

And  as  she  raised  her  eyes  once  more,  they  fell  on  th«  ^ 
Words  Blackbird  had  painted  round  her  room  : 

'  Tlioa  art  more  lluui  tba  gods  who  number  the  dmjB  of  oiur  tempornj 

breatb, 
Tur  IbMB  giv*  labour  and  alujubar)  bat  thou,  Proserpunk,  deatk' 


lluISi 


IAD  MATBRIA2< 


303 


OHAPTFiK  XLtl 


1 

i. 

I 

Q 

Q 


1' 


BAD    MATERIAL. 

On  th<\  Continent,  meanwhile,  Mr.  Hayward's  success  had 
been  partial  and  inconoluaive. 

The  very  morning  of  his  arrival  in  Paris  he  went  hastily 
round  from  his  comfortable  hotel  in  the  Eue  de  la  Paix  to 
a  shabby  street  on  the  south  side,  to  get  back,  if  possible, 
into  his  own  hands  the  incriminating  envelope  wijich 
contained  Owen  Cazalet's  name  and  address  in  England. 
For  this  purpose  he  meant  to  introduce  himself  at  once  to 
his  brother  Nihilist  as  Pturio  Brassotf ;  for  nobody  ou  earth, 
save  Madame  Mireff  alone,  was  aware  of  the  identity  of 
the  exiled  Prince  with  Mr.  Lambert  Hayward,  senior 
partner  in  the  firm  of  Mortimer  and  Co.,  in  Bond  Street. 
Had  others  known  it,  needless  to  say,  the  identification 
of  Owen  with  Sergius  Selistoff  the  younger  would  have 
been  very  plain  sailing.  But  Mr,  Hayward,  who  did 
nothing  by  halves,  had  kept  his  English  home  and  occu- 
pation discreetly  concealed  from  the  prying  gaze  of  all 
his  Nihilist  allies ;  so  he  ran  no  risk  now  of  implicating 
Owen  by  any  other  means  than  the  sealed  envelope. 

Arrived  at  the  Eue  des  Saints  Peres,  he  chmbed  a  high 
staircase  au  cinquidme,  with  a  beating  heart,  and  knocking 
at  a  closed  door,  asked  for  Valerian  Stefanovic. 

He  was  shown  at  once  into  a  barely-furnished  salon. 
His  fellow-conspirator  rose  from  his  seat  by  a  table  at  the 
far  end  to  receive  him. 

*  I  am  Euric  Braj^soff,'  Mr.  Hayward  said  simply,  as  the 
door  closed  behind  him. 

Stefanovic,  without  altering  one  mascle  of  his  in- 
scrutable face,  bowed  a  non-committing  bow.  The  Chief 
was  taken  aback  by  so  cool  a  reception.  Middle-aged, 
wiry,  suspicious,  a  lean  and  hungi-y  man,  with  a  mous- 
tache like  Mephistopheles,  this  Valerian  Stefanovio 
seemed  the  very  embodiment  of  the  calmly  sardonic  or 
calculating  type  of  conspirntor.  Not  at  all  tlio  Hdtt,  ot 
person  to  be  lightly  moved,  Mr.  Hayward  fo]t,  by  super- 
loi«l  bUmdishwents.     The  Chief  lookod  at  bim,  and 


4 


N 


iA4 


X7NDKB  SEALED  ORDERS 


despaired.  It  was  clear,  if  he  wag  to  succeed  at  all  in  hi* 
present  undertaking,  he  must  succeed,  not  by  frankness, 
but  by  wile  and  stratagem. 

It  took  him  some  time,  of  course,  at  the  outset  to  pw- 
snado  Stefanovic  at  all  that  he  was  really  and  truly  Rurio 
Brassoffi  Appearances  were  against  him.  The  sardonic 
conspirator  for  some  minutes  stood  entirely  on  the  de- 
fensive, frankly  incredulous.  But  even  after  this  initial 
difficulty  had  been  in  part  overcome,  there  "remained  the 
far  harder  task  of  inducing  his  ally  to  give  up  the  all- 
important  letter. 

In  despair  of  fair  means,  Mr.  Hayward  after  a  time 
began  to  feign  distrust  on  his  own  side,  and  to  doubt 
about  the  safety  of  the  precious  sealed  envelope.  Thus 
put  upon  his  mettle,  Stefanovic,  after  some  brief  parley- 
ing, produced  the  challenged  document  from  a  little 
locked  drawer,  and  held  it  out  cautiously  before  his 
visitor's  eye,  with  his  own  two  hands  still  carefully 
guarding  it. 

Mr.  Hayward  scanned  him  close.  He  was  a  lithe,  thin 
man — no  match  for  a  Brassoff  physically.  Quick  as 
lightning,  without  a  word  spoken,  the  Nihilist  Chief 
pounced  down  upon  him  unawares,  and,  seizing  both 
wrists  in  his  own,  wrenched  them  rapidly  round  till  the 
envelope  dropped  from  Stefanovic's  grasp.  Then,  stoop- 
ing down  before  the  man  had  recovered  from  his  pain  and 
surprise,  he  picked  it  up  in  haste  and  tore  it  opei,\  The 
seal  was  intact ;  so  far,  good ;  the  envelope,  then,  had  not 
been  tampered  with. 

A  good  iire  burned  bright  in  the  open  grate  of  the  litfle 
salon.  Without  a  second's  hesitation,  Mr.  Hayward 
flung  the  incriminating  paper  with  Owen's  name  and 
address  into  the  midst  of  the  flame.  It  blazed  up  in- 
stantly, burnt  to  white  ash  in  a  momer.t,  and  then  flew 
up  the  chimney,  a  thin  and  twinkling  sheet  of  spark- 
bespangled  tissue. 

With  a  wild  shout,  Stefanovic,  half  wondering,  half 
comprehending  what  had  happened,  sprang  forward  in  a 
fury,  and  fronted  his  Chief,  hot  and  trembling. 

'  This  is  treachery  I'  he  cried  aloud,  with  a  very  red  face. 
'  Treachery  t    Treason  I    Chicanery !     You  could  have  na 


;^^ 


Im 


BAD  MATERIAL 


afiS 


^r»0fl  f^mrnd  for  s'jch  trickery  as  fchafc !  Not  from  Burin 
IJraRsoff  iiiinself  will  I  stand  this  treatment.  And  you  aio 
not  Rnric  Brassoff.  You're  a  spy  of  the  Czar's.'  FIc 
SI  1  itched  a  revolver  hurriedly  from  a  cabinet  by  his  side, 
a:jd  cocked  it  point  blank  at  him.  '  Pretender  1'  he 
shrieked  in  his  impotent  rage.  •  Liar  I  Hypocrite ! 
Mouchard !' 

Quick  as  thought,  Mr,  Hayward  drew  a  revolver  in 
turn — a  mere  toy  of  a  v^eapon  to  look  at,  but  perfectly 
finished  and  fitted  throughout,  a  fine  triumph  of  work- 
manship. He  pulled  it  from  his  ^;ocket  and  covered  his 
man  with  it  in  his  right ;  with  his  left  he  dashed  back 
Stefanovic's  clumsier  pistol. 

*  Hold,  hold,  my  friend,'  he  said  shortly,  clasping  the 
man's  delicate  wrist  with  that  iron  grip  of  his.  '  If  you 
struggle,  I  shoot.  I'm  your  superior  officer.  It  is  not  for 
such  as  you  to  judge  of  my  acts  and  my  orders.  The 
Society  as  a  whole  has  alone  the  right  to  judge  of  them. 
If  you  fire,  you  spoil  all.  You  bring  everything  to  light. 
You  explode  the  fraternity.  Take  time  to  consider.  This 
is  a  critical  point  in  our  histcjry.  Hunt  me  down,  if  you 
will,  after  due  deliberation.  But  if  you  shoot  me  now,  in 
hot  blood,  what,  I  ask,  will  you  have  accomplished  ?  All 
Paris  and  Petersburg  will  know  to-morrow  that  Valerian 
Stefanovic  has  shot  Ruric  Brassoff,  the  tyrant's  chief 
enemy,  in  a  private  quarrel.  Then  everything  would 
come  out.  The  Cause  would  be  betrayed.  .  Poor  Russia 
would  be  lost.  And  Alexis  Selistoff  would  have  good 
reason  to  laugh  in  his  sleeve  in  his  comfortable  office  in 
the  Third  Section.' 

Awed  by  that  strong,  calm  voice,  Stefanovic  paused 
and  hesitated.     He  looked  at  his  man  dubiously. 

Mr.  Ilayward  still  hold  the  tiny  revolver  pointed 
straight  at  his  follower's  head.  As  Stefanovic  doubted, 
his  Chief,  edging  forward,  gave  once  more  a  sudden  curl 
to  his  wrist,  wrenched  the  revolver  from  his  grasp  with 
that  powerful  grip  as  of  a  Cossack  hand,  and  flung  it 
with  a  sweep  to  the  other  side  of  the  little  salon.  1% 
alighted  harmlessly.  Then,  still  covering  his  man 
cautiously  with  his  own  toy-like  weapon,  he  want  OB  in 
ft  quieter  voice : 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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366 


UNDER  8BALBD  ORDBR8 


*  Valerian  Stcfanovio,  don't  venture  to  bandy  words  ot 
dispute  my  orders.  I  am  still  your  commander.  But 
things  have  turned  out  differently  from  my  expectations. 
I  don't  trust  you  so  implicitly  now  as  I  trusted  you  somfl 
months  ago.  You  must  accept;  your  position,  or  blow 
everything  to  atoms.  We  are  standing  this  moment  on 
the  edge  of  a  volcano.  A  brawl  between  you  and  me  in 
a  Paris  lodging-house  would  be  fatal  to  the  Cause.  Tou 
must  see  that  for  yourself.     Don't  insist  upon  this  folly.' 

Stefanovic,  undecided,  fell  back  into  an  easy-chair,  and 
glared  at  him  sullenly. 

'  I  don't  know  who  you  are,'  he  muttered  low,  with 
lurking  anger  in  his  voice.  *  I'm  not  sure  my  plain  duty 
isn't  to  leap  at  your  throat  and  choke  you.' 

By  this  time  Mr.  Hayward  had  regained  all  his  natural 
calmness. 

*  You're  not  sure,'  he  answered  with  resolution.  *  And 
where  you're  not  sure.  Valerian  Stefanovic,  the  wise 
man's  obvious  course  is,  not  to  be  precipitate,  but  to  wait 
and  take  counsel.  Will  you,  on  your  sole  responsibility, 
wreck  a  whole  organization?  Will  you  destroy  your 
country?  Pause  and  think  at  least  before  you  do  it. 
And  remember,  the  man  who  bids  you  pause  and  tnink 
is  fche  Chief  of  the  Eevolution — Euric  Brassoff.' 

Stefanovic  rocked  himself  up  and  down  in  the  chair, 
as  regardless  of  the  pistil  whose  muzzle  the  elder  man 
still  held  pointed  at  his  temples  as  if  it  had  been  a  child's 
popgun. 

'  Well,  Rurio  Brassoff,'  he  murmured  slowly  at  last, 
'  if  Ruric  Brassoff  you  are,  I  believe  you  to  be  a  traitor. 
But  I'll  pause  and  reflect,  as  you  say,  for  I  recognise  in 
your  hand  the  one  that  so  long  has  issued  me  orders. 
Still,  I  won't  let  the  Cause  suffer  by  my  own  uncertainty. 
I  give  you  fair  warning,  I  shall  write  to  our  friends  in 
Petersburg  and  Moscow  to  inform  them  of  this  incident. 
I'll  tell  them  exactly  by  what  ruse  you  cheated  me.  It 
will  be  for  them  to  decide.  If  they  think  as  I  think, 
then  '—he  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  faced  the  revolver  fear-  ' 
lessly — 'then,  Rurio  Brassoff,'  he  said,  pointing  at  him 
with  one  skinny  finger,  like  embodied  Fate,  '  your  braini 
will  be  scattered  on  the  floor  with  as  little  oompnnotios 


BAD  MATBRIAL 


9f>' 


M  you'd  toatter  mine  this  minute  if  I  rafaied  to  obe> 
you/ 

Mr.  Hayward  let  the  revolver  drop  slightly  u  ho 
answered  in  a  very  ^uiet  tone : 

'  That's  well,  Triend  Stefanovio  —  very  well,  very 
sensible.  You  speak  now  with  the  voice  of  a  good  revo- 
lutionist. Dtath  to  the  traitor  is  the  law  of  our  being, 
the  bond  of  our  society.  On  no  other  basis  can  a  con- 
ipiracy  defend  itself  against  internal  treasoa  I  aeeept 
it  myself ;  kill  me  if  I  prove  false ;  but  I  don't  want  to 
die  till  I've  done  the  work  that  still  remains  for  me.  And 
I  like  you  all  the  better  and  trust  you  tiiU  the  more  for 
the  bold,  frank  way  you've  spoken  to-day  to  me.  If 
you'd  shot  me~weU  and  good — you'd  have  committed 
an  error  of  judgment ;  but  I  confess  you  would  have  been 
right  in  the  main  impulse  that  prompted  you.' 

He  hated  himself  for  his  duplicity  and  backsliding  as 
he  said  it.  On  his  own  code  of  ethics  he  knew  Stefanovic 
was  right,  and  he  himself  was  wrong.  He  admired  the 
man  for  hie  courage,  his  steadfastness,  his  devotion. 
Thif  was  the  true  Nihilist  strain.  This  was  an  ally  to  be 
proud  ol  The  revolutionist  within  him  recognised  and 
rejoiced  in  a  brother  soul. 

*  Well  done,'  he  said,  after  a  short  paufe.  *  You  did 
light,  friend  Valerian.' 

But  the  other  man  sal  down  again,  undiiarmed  in 
soul,  and  confronted  him  once  more  with  %  steely  eye  o! 
iuspioion. 

'  That's  all  very  well  in  its  way,'  he  said  sulkily ;  '  but 
I  wish  I'd  shot,  all  the  same.  Stone  dead  has  no  fellow. 
However,  to  prevent  open  scandal  I  waive  that  point. 
Only,  mind  vou,  Buric  Brassoff,  or  whoever  else  you 
may  be,  you  snail  not  play  this  trick  again  with  impunity 
elsewhere.  I  shall  write  to  all  the  heads  of  our  organf- 
Eation  in  Bussia  to  warn  them  at  once  of  your  vile  plan 
of  action.  You  won't  get  any  more  sealed  envelopes  by 
treachery,  I  can  promise  you.  I  shall  write  to  ea<m  one 
of  them — Ossinskv,  Fomenko,  Clemens,  Lisogub,  every- 
body I  They  shall  know  how  to  deal  with  you  when  you 
prosont  yourself  before  them.' 

A  danger-signal  loomed  diitiaot  belort  Mr.  Eayward's 


li 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


inner  eyo — a  double  danger  True  Nihiliafc  that  he  wm 
Btiii,  in  spite  of  this  episode,  ho  didn't  want  to  betray  his 
(Jause  to  the  Third  Section.  And  in  his  burning  anxiety 
for  Owen  Cazalet's  safety,  he  didn't  want  young  Sergiua 
Selistoff's  alias  and  address  to  fall  into  his  Uncle  Alexis's 
hands  at  St.  Petersburg.  But  unless  Stefanovio  would 
be  warned  in  time,  that  might  easily  happen.  For  he 
might  write,  among  others,  to  Ossinsky  of  Kieff,  whom 
the  police,  as  Madame  Mireif  wired  to  him,  had  lately 
arrested. 

With  genuine  alarm  and  interest  gleaming  bright  in 
his  eye,  he  leaned  eagerly  forward. 

'  Take  care  what  you  do,'  he  said  in  a  voice  of  solemn 
warning.  •  Whoever  else  you  write  to,  don't  write  to 
Ossinsky.  Our  trusted  friend  was  arrested  at  Eieff  some 
ten  days  ago,  as  I  learn  by  telegram  from  Olga  Mireff. 
If  you  write  to  him,  your  letter  will  fall  into  the  hands 
of  the  spies ;  and  then  all  will  be  up  with  both  of  us 
—with  the  Cause— with  Eussia.' 

'That's  false!'  Stefanovic  answered,  starting  up  and 
facing  him  with  clenched  fists,  like  a  tiger  at  l.  /. 
*  That's  false  I  You're  a  liar  1  If  Ossinsky  had  been 
arrested  I  should  have  heard  of  it  at  once.  Who  would 
hear  before  me  ?  You're  trying  to  intimidate  ma  You're 
a  spy — you're  a  mouchatd  /' 

Mr.  Hayward  drew  a  telegram  triumphantly  from  his 
pocket,  and  handed  it  to  the  man  with  a  smile.  Stefan- 
ovic glanced  at  it  sideways. 

*Jiist  arrived  across  the  German  frontier.  Couldn't 
communicate  before.  Am  returning  now  post-haste  to 
England.  Very  serious  news.  Ossinsky  arrested  ten 
days  ago  at  Kieff.  All  is  known,  except  the  English 
name  of  Sergius  Selistoff's  son.  That  they  can't  find  out. 
But  the  danger  is  great.  Smuggle  him  away  at  once, 
lor  Heaven's  sake. 

'Olga  Mireff.' 

*  Yon  lee,'  Mr.  Hayward  said  gravely, '  I  have  good 
reason  for  mv  action.' 
Bat  Valeria n  Stefanovio  gazed  at  him  fixedly  witk 


I! 


TO  MOSCOW  f69 

stem  Maohiavelian  eyes  as  he  answered,  beiween  his 
teeth,  under  his  wiry  moustache : 

*  This  is  false.  This  is  forgery.  This  is  lies,  and  yon 
know  it.  If  U  were  true,  Olga  Mireff  would  have  tele- 
graphed to  me.  I'll  be  careful  what  I  do.  I'll  com- 
promise nobody.  But,  Baric  Brassoff  or  spy,  I  distrust 
you — I  distrust  you  1' 


GHAPTEB  xmn. 

TO  IXGBOOW. 

It  was  with  a  heavy  heaki  indeed  that  Mr.  Hayward 
returned  that  morning  to  his  comfortable  hotel  in  the 
Hue  de  la  Paix.  For  his  chance  of  saving  Owen  and 
Eond  depended  entirely  upon  the  recovery,  unopened,  of 
the  sealed  envelopes.  But  the  dangers  in  the  way  were 
now  great  and  twofold.  If  Stefanovio  wrote  direct  to 
Michael  Fomenko  at  Moscow,  that  brother  revolutionist 
would  inform  the  whole  Nihilist  party  in  Bussia  and  the 
West  of  their  Chief's  defection ;  the  envelope  would  be 
broken,  its  secret  divulged,  and  no  stone  would  be  left 
unturned  by  the  entire  organization  to  punish  Owen 
Gazalet  for  his  desertion  of  their  common  principles. 
And  if,  on  the  other  hand,  Stf^ifanovic  wrote  direct  to 
Ossinsky  at  Eie£F,  then  the  letter  would  inevitably  fall 
into  the  hands  of  General  SelistofTs  spies,  and  Owen's 
life  would  be  rendered  doubly  insecure  by  the  hostility 
alike  of  the  Bevolutionists  and  of  the  Bussian  Govern 
ment.  Both  parties  at  once  would  pursue  him  as  % 
traitor  with  relentless  energy. 

What  annoyed  Mr.  Hayward  most,  however,  in  this 
difficult  crisis,  was  his  inability  to  get  at  once  to  Berlin 
and  Moscow.  He  was  longing  to  go  and  to  communicate 
with  Olga  Mireff  who  might  be  able,  he  hoped,  either  to 
intervene  on  his  behalf  with  Valerian  Stefanovic,  or  to 
prevent  the  man's  letters  ever  reaching  Kieff  and  so  being 
seized  en  route  by  the  representatives  of  the  Third 
Section.  Madame  Miretif's  peculiar  position  aB  tho  sup- 
poi«d  frieud  and  ally  of  General  Sehstoff  and  th^  Czar 


H 


n 


J9B 


VND9E  8BALBD  ORDERS 


made  her  lud  especially  desirable  at  snoh  a  jvatinre. 
Sharing,  as  she  did,  the  secrets  of  both  sides,  she  was 
able  fcom  time  to  time  to  do  the  Cause  good  service 
which  none  but  such  a  clever  and  resourceful  diplomatist 
would  have  had  the  power  to  render  it.  But,  unfortu- 
nately, on  the  very  threshold,  delays  and  difficulties 
arose  over  the  question  of  passports.  Mr.  Hayward  was 
determined  to  go  to  Bussia,  and  brought  with  him  for 
the  purpose  the  usual  perfunctory  Foreign  Office  docu- 
ment, issued  in  the  name  of  Henry  Mortimer,  a  British 
subject — his  former  partner.  It  was  necessary,  however, 
to  get  the  visa  of  the  Bussian  embassy  at  Paris,  and  over 
this  vita  unexpected  trouble  cvcpped  up,  which  it  took 
Mr.  Hayward  two  clear  days  to  surmount,  not  to  mention 
a  certain  sum  of  very  hard  swearing.  The  Nihilist  Chief 
wasn't  a  man  to  fret  and  fume  over  trifles,  but  this  inop- 
portune delay  caused  him  no  small  anxiety.  For  perhaps 
before  he  could  reach  Berlin  Stefanovic's  letters  would  be 
vrell  on  their  way  for  Eieff  and  Moscow,  and  Owen's  fate 
would  be  sealed,  either  by  Michael  Fomenko  or  by  Alexis 
SelistofL 

At  last,  however,  all  difficulties  were  smoothed  away ; 
hwrd  swearing  produced  its  due  reward,  the  passport  was 
oorroctly  examined  and  visi;  and  Henry  Mortimer, 
gentleman,  a  British  subject,  on  his  travels  on  the  Con- 
tinent, under  the  protection  of  all  foreign  princes,  poten- 
tates, and  powers,  took  the  fast  through  train  from  the 
Qare  du  Nord  for  Berlin. 

He  wont  straight  on  arrival  to  the  Continental,  the  big 
fashionable  hotel  opposite  the  Friedrichstrasse  railway- 
station.  Madame  Mireff  was  there  already  waiting  for 
him  by  appointment.  Mr.  Hayward  lost  no  time  in  see- 
ing her,  and  explaining  in  part  the  object  of  his  visit. 
Olga  Mireff  listened,  all  respectful  attention.  Not  a 
shadow  of  mistrust  disturbed  her  perfect  confidence. 
For  her,  at  least,  it  was  clear,  the  Cause  and  the  man 
werd  on«3 ;  women  can  grasp  the  abstract  only  through 
the  aid  of  a  concrete  form ;  she  had  so  implicit  a  belief 
in  Buric  Brassoff  that  whatever  he  said  was  to  her  the 
embodied  voice  of  all  free  Bussia. 

As  for  the  Chief,  he  broke  his  plan  to  her  by  very  teutfti 


L 


TOMOaCOW 


m 


^ive  atngefl.  Events  had  occurred,  he  ea!d,  m  he  toll 
.  ir  in  London,  which  rendered  it  impossible  for  OweA 
GaEalefc,  who  was  also,  as  she  knew,  Sergius  Selistoff  the 
younger,  to  enter  the  English  diplomatic  service.  He 
wouldn't  explain  to  her  in  fall  what  those  events  were ; 
he  wouldn't  defend  his  action ;  he  was  Boric  Brassoff, 
that,  he  hoped,  would  be  enough  for  her.  Olga  Mirdf 
could  trust  him.  It  had  become  necessary,  however,  asi 
a  consequence  of  this  change  of  front,  and  of  Ossinsky's 
arrest,  that  he  should  go  to  Russia  in  person,  in  order  to 
recover  possession  of  certain  compromising  papers  which 
might  otherwise  cause  both  Owen  and  nimself  very 
senous  trouble.  And  he  was  going  there  almost  at  once, 
direct  to  Moscow. 

Madame  Mireff  gave  a  start. 

<To  Bussial'  she  cried.  *To  Moscow  t  Oh,  Burie 
Brassoff  no  t  Let  me  go  in  your  place.  Don't  expose 
your  sacred  head.    Don't  trust  yourself  in  that  countoy.' 

Mr.  Hayward  lifted  his  hand,  palm  open  before  him, 
deprecatingly. 

'  Not  that  name,  Olga — ^not  that  name,'  he  whispered 
low.  '  Here  I  am  Henry  Mortimer,  a  British  subject. 
But  I  must  go,  all  the  same.  To  Bussia.  To  Moscow. 
No  one  on  earth  but  myself  could  perform  my  business.' 

'  The  risk's  so  great !'  Madame  cried,  trembling  with 
anxiety.  '  In  Bussia  you  .have  everywhere  to  run  the 
gauntlet  of  so  much  police  espionage.  Whereas,  for  me, 
all's  made  to  easy.  I've  Alexis  SelistofTs  rr commenda- 
tion wherever  I  go.  I've  the  weight  of  the  arisfcooraoy 
and  the  burenucraoy  at  my  back.  I  have  but  to  show 
my  card,  and  the  mere  name,  "  Olga  Mireff,"  is  my  past- 
port  everywhere.  Nobody  thinks  of  questioning  m«. 
I'm  the  friend  of  the  Adminislsration.' 

Mr.  Hayward  shook  his  head  gravely. 

<  Tou're  a  faithful  adherent,  Olga,'  he  said,  with  thai 
calm  air  of  eommand  that  sat  upon  him  so  easily — '  a  most 
faithful  adherent.  But  bow  often  shall  I  have  to  tell  ye« 
tiiat  your  zeal  t*t  timds  outruns  your  discretion  ?  I  don't 
ask  yon  for  sueh  aid.  I  ank  for  obedienee.  Listen  well 
to  what  I  say,  cind  make  am  private  suggestions.' 

A  little  red  fpot  burned  fiery  bright  on  Olga  Mireffi 


-  !i 


r 

r  i 


t  i 


!l 


•  I 


i 


I    I 

I  i 


■»■ 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


cheek ;  but  she  gave  no  rebellious  answer.    ITcr  revcn 
ence  for  Buric  Brassoff  was  too  deep  to  permit  it. 

•  I  forgot/  she  answered  meekly.  *  I  rate  your  life  so 
high  that  I  can't  bear,  without  a  protest,  to  hear  of  yotkf 
risking  it,  if  any  other  of  less  valu?  would  answer  as  weli 
But  you,  of  course,  know  best.     1  am  all  obedience.' 

She  bowed  her  head  and  blushed  crimson.  Mr^  Hay- 
ward  watched  her  close,  as  he  went  on  to  explain  to  her 
in  tentative  terms  what  he  wished  her  to  do,  with  the 
air  of  a  general  who  issues  orders  to  his  attentive  sub- 
ordinates. She  was  to  remain  in  Berlin  for  the  present 
under  her  own  name,  and  he  would  telegraph  progress  to 
her  daily  as  Henry  Mortimer.  The  telegram  would  bear 
reference  to  an  imaginary  illness  of  an  imaginary  son, 
and  would  mean  merely  that  all  was  going  well  up-to- 
date — no  danger  expected.  But  if  any  day  no  telegram 
arrived  before  twelve  o'clock  noon,  then  she  would  know 
he  was  either  arrested  or  in  flight  for  his  life.  In  that 
case  she  was  to  proceed  by  the  first  train  to  St.  Peters- 
burg, and  to  call  at  once  on  General  Selistoff,  so  as  to 
worm  out  the  circumstances.  She  could  make  an  excuse 
for  her  unexpected  return  by  giving  the  General  some 
unimportant  unsigned  intercepted  letter  from  a  London 
Nihilist,  and  pretending  to  have  discovered  from  it  that 
Buric  Brassoff  waB  in  Bussia.  That  would  prove  her 
watchfulness. 

*And  if  I'm  arrested  and  taken  to  Petersburg,'  the 
Chief  went  on  very  solemnly,  *  I  shall  no  doubt  be  ex- 
amined in  Alexis  Selistoff's  office.  Or  perhaps  ho  may 
come  to  Moscow  to  prevent  removing  me.  Well,  take 
oare  you're  there ;  be  cautious,  be  firm,  and  watch  whaf 
I  say,  to  govern  yourself  accordingly.* 

Madame  MirefiTs  lips  twitched ;  but  she  answered,  with- 
out any  apparent  qualm : 

'  Yes,  I  will.    You  can  trust  me.' 

Mr.  Hayward  took  slowly  from  his  inner  breast-pocket 
a  little  revolver  of  very  fine  workmanship.  It  was  the 
same  with  which  he  had  confronted  Valerian  Stefanovio 
in  his  rooms  at  Paris.  He  handed  the  pretty  toy  across 
to  her — a  marvel  o'  modern  skil^  the  final  flower  in  the 
evolution  of  pocket  firearms. 


TO  MOSCOW 


zil 


•Take  this,  Olga/  he  said  calmly.  *  It's  very  precionSb 
You  can  smuggle  it  across  the  frontier  more  easily  than  I 
can.  You  won't  be  searched.  I  may  be.  At  any  rate, 
take  it.  I  may  have  need  of  it  in  Petersburg,  if  ever  we 
meet  there.  It's  a  beautiful  little  instrument.  Carry  it 
about  with  you  always  in  the  bosom  of  your  dress, 
wherever  you  go,  for  we  can  never  tell  beforehand  at 
what  minute  it  may  be  wanted.' 

Madame  Mireff  took  it  reverently,  raised  his  hand  to 
her  lips,'  and  kissed  it  as  she  did  so.  Mr.  Hayward 
accepted  the  kiss  with  aU  the  dignity  of  a  monarch.  It 
was  clear  she  was  stanch;  woman-like,  she  shone 
brightest  in  personal  devotion.  No  qualms  like  Stefan- 
ovio's  there ;  no  doubts ;  no  suspicions. 

<I  will,'  she  answered  once  more,  still  holding  his 
hand  in  hers.  '  Dear  friend,  I  may  not  say  your  name 
aloud,  it  seems,  but  I  utter  it  m  my  heart.  I  am  yours, 
for  Bussia.  I  give  you  my  body ;  I  give  you  my  soul. 
Take  me ;  do  as  you  will  with  me.' 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  great  eyes.  Mr.  Hayward 
bowed  silently.  Then  they  talked  on  for  some  minutes 
more,  the  Chief  giving  directions  in  a  most  matter-of-fact 
Toice — for  he  wouldn't  give  way — how  Madame  Mirefi 
was  to  behave  under  certain  contingencies,  and  Madame 
listening  to  them  with  the  eagerness  of  a  young  girl  to 
her  lover.  At  last  he  turned  to  her  suddeniy,  and  asked 
in  a  different  tone : 

'  And  have  you  seen  anything  of  our  friendg  linoe 
you've  been  here  in  Berlin  It 

'Very  little;  very  few  of  them,'  Madame  answered, 
coming  back  to  herself  from  a  dreamy  oloudland. 
*  Everybo^  here  knows  me  as  the  Czar's  agent  in  Eng- 
land, and  1  have  to  be  careful  accordingly ;  for  the  two 
or  three  faithful  in  Berlin  and  Charlottenburg  are  sus- 
pected by  the  police,  and  watched  very  closely.  But  I 
aid  just  manage  to  have  a  word  or  two  in  private  with 
my  cousin  Tania  to-day,  and  by  the  way,  Tania  told  me 
a  piece  of  bad  news,  which  this  more  important  matter 
of  yours  half  put  out  of  my  head  for  the  moment,  but 
which  you  certainly  ought  to  know  at  once.  It  was 
about  Ossinsky'g  arrest,  or,  rather,  one  of  its  cona»i 

18 


»74 


UNDQR  SBALSD  ORDB&S 


quences.  Tania  hadn't  heard  Ossinsky  was  taken ;  fn 
some  reason  or  other  our  friends  at  Eieff  seemed  afraid 
to  write  or  telegraph  to  her,  so  she  committed,  quite  un- 
wittingly, a  most  unfortunate  mistake.  She  sent  on 
letters  to  Ossinsky,  addressed  to  her  here,  which  of 
course  will  fall  now  ink)  the  hands  of  Alezii  Selistolf  f 
myrmidons.' 

Mr.  Hayward  gave  a  start  of  surprise  and  alarm. 

'Letters  to  Ossinsky?'  he  exclaimed,  taken  ab&ok. 
*From  whom  and  from  where?  This  is  serioui  indeed. 
Did  she  kc^w  their  contents?* 

Madame  saw  he  was  deeply  moTed. 

'From  Paris,  I  think,'  she  answered,  trembling. 
'From  Valerian  Stefanovio — so  Tania  told  me.  Ha 
wrote  to  her,  urging  her  strongly  to  forward  these  letters, 
which  he  said  were  important,  to  Ossinsky  at  Eaeff,  and 
to  Fomenko  at  Moscow.  So  she  forwarded  them  at  once 
by  the  usual  channels.  I  don't  know  the  contents, 
though.  Stefanovic  told  Tania  nothing  more  about  them 
than  that  they  were  of  immediate  and  pressing  neces- 
sity.' 

Mr.  Hayward  rose  from  his  seat  and  paced  up  and 
down  his  room  in  a  turmoil  of  doubt  and  fear — not  for 
himself,  but  for  Owen. 

*  This  is  terrible  I'  he  cried  at  last.  <  You  can't  think 
what  she's  done.  Ossinsky's  letters  would,  of  course,  b« 
seized  at  Kieff.  They  would  doubtless  contain  some 
allusion  to  the  other  Stefanovio  had  sent  to  Fomenko  at 
Moscow.  Fomenko  would  be  arrested,  too,  and  with 
him  would  be  arrested  most  damaging  papers.  But 
that's  not  alL  Before  he  could  be  taken,  he  might  do 
much  harm.  He  might  divulge  to  others  a  fundamental 
secret  I  wished  kept  most  inviolable.  He  might  ruin  iJl; 
he  might  explode  the  whole  mine.  I  must  go  on  at  onea 
by  the  first  train  to  Moscow.' 

Madame  Mireff  started  to  her  feei  The  woman  within 
her  overcame  her. 

'  No,  no  r  she  cried,  flinging  her  arms  round  him  in  a 
transport  of  terror.  '  You  mustn't  i  you  mustn't  t  For 
BusBia's  sake,  you  must  stop.  Don't  venture  to  go. 
Pon't  azposa  yourself  to  this  dangar  1' 


TRAPS  FOR  FOXBS 


xji 


A  deadly  pallor  spread  over  Burio  Brassoff's  white 
face.  For  Bussia's  sake  1  What  a  mockery  I  when  he 
was  sacrificing  Bussia  to  lone  and  Owen.  He  unwound 
her  arms  slowly ;  he  stood  erect  and  immovable. 

<  For  Bussia's  sake,'  he  said  in  a  very  cold,  stern  voice, 
for  he  was  sentencing  himself  to  death,  '  I  must  go ;  I 
must  give  myself  up — I  must  brave  the  unspeakable. 
For  Bussia's  sake  I  must  die.  It's  all  I  can  do  now  for 
her.' 


OHAPTEB  XLIV. 

TBAFB  FOB  FOXBS. 

Albzis  Bblistoff  sat  in  a  very  good  humour  in  hii 
cabinet  at  the  Bureau  of  Police  in  St.  Petersburg.  'Twas 
with  evident  gusto  that  the  chief  of  the  Third  Section 
twirled  the  ends  of  his  gray  moustache  between  his  big 
bronzed  fingers.  Tall,  well  set,  erect,  a  great  giant  to 
look  upon,  with  his  commanding  face  and  dear-cut 
classical  features,  Alexis  Selistoff  seemed  the  very  picture 
of  what  Owen  Cazalet  might  become  after  forty-five 
vears  of  military  service  in  Bussia.  To  the  towering 
height  and  colossal  limbs  of  all  his  kin,  he  added  the 
fine  bearing  and  stern,  methodical  air  of  a  well- trained 
Aoldier.  But  in  spite  of  his  cheerful  mien,  a  grim  smile 
played  round  the  corners  of  those  cruel  thin  lips. 

'  This  is  good,  Nikita,'  he  murmured  musically  to  hit 
chief  clerk,  in  pleased  and  ruminating  tones.  '  We've 
run  our  vermin  to  earth  at  last  I  We  shall  cage  them 
soon,  nc  v,  these  burrowing  underground  foxes  I' 

'  Number  Four  still  bafflee:  us,  though,'  the  chief  clerk 
remarked  pensively. 

*  Number  Four  still  bafiSes  ub,'  Alexis  Selistoff  echoed, 
with  another  twirl  at  the  waxed  gray  ends ;  '  but  the 
rest's  all  plain  saiUng.  It  was  clear,  even  to  start  with, 
from  Ossinsky's  papers,  that  we  have  to  deal  here  with  a 
plot  of  that  reptile  Buric  Brassoff's.  It  was  clear  the 
ringleader  had  communicated  some  secret  of  prime  im- 
portance to  three  other  persons,  and  three  others  only. 


fmk 


sy6 


UNDER  SKAI.ED  ORDERS 


That  Beoret,  I  take  it  for  granted,  had  reference  to  thii 
boy  or  young  man,  designated  in  their  cipher  as  Number 
Five  Hundred.  Now,  Number  Five  Hundred,  whoever 
he  may  be  is  living  in  England.  And  there  we  can  set 
Madame  Mireff  on  the  trail  to  catch  him.' 

'  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  your  Excellency  to  consider/ 
the  chief  clerk  ventured  to  suggest  with  very  tentative 
hesitation,  <  that  Number  Five  Hundred  might  not  im^ 
possibly  be * 

With  a  terrible  frown,  Alexis  Selistoff  cut  him  short. 

'  Sir  I'  he  thundered  out,  turning  round  upon  him  aa 
a  terrier  turns  on  a  wounded  rat,  and  annihilating  him 
with  one  glance  from  those  formidable  eyes  of  his. 
*  Keep  your  suggestions  till  they're  asked  for.  How  dare 
you  presume  to  dictate?  Don't  forget  your  place.  And 
be  careful  how  you  implicate  members  of  important 
families.' 

For  though  Alexis  Selisto£f  didn't  mind  acknowledging 
(with  a  shudder)  to  Olga  Mireff,  a  noblewoman  bom, 
and  his  own  equal  in  rank,  that  his  brother  Sergius's 
son  was  a  possible  traitor  and  Nihilist,  he  couldn't  bring 
himself  to  endure  that  a  mere  departmental  clerk  like 
this  fellow  Nikita  should  dare  to  cast  aspersions  of  so 
damning  a  character  upon  the  nephew  and  heir  of  his 
superior  officer.  And  he  felt  instinctively  sure  his  sub- 
ordinate was  on  the  very  point  of  saying,  *  Has  it  ever 
occurred  to  your  Excellency  to  consider  that  Number 
Five  Hundred  might  not  impossibly  be  your  Excellency's 
own  ne.phew,  Sergius  Selistofif  the  younger  ?'  That  was 
an  insult  no  issue  of  the  Selistoff  blood  ever  brooked  for 
a  moment  from  a  whipper-snapper  of  a  secretary. 

The  chief  clerk  withered  up.    He  retired  into  his  shell. 

<  Your  Excellency  was  observing  ?'  he  said  with  the 
oowed  air  of  a  whipped  spaniel. 

Alexis  Selistoff  leaned  back  in  his  swinging  chair  and 
composed  himself. 

*  I  was  observing/  he  went  on,  still  somewhat  ruffled 
oy  the  coniret&mj^i^  '  that  from  the  very  first  we  knew 
Ossinsky  to  be  one  of  three  persons  entrusted  by  Burio 
Bra3So£F  with  some  fatal  secret.  These  latest  letters,  just 
intercepted  at  Kieif  and  forwarded  here  this  momio^ 


TRAPS  FOR  FOXES 


m 


fuppiy  ns  with  two  new  facts  of  considerable  value. 
Th«y  show  us  conclusively  that  the  second  of  the  three 
persons  is  Valerian  Stefanovic,  a  refugee  at  Paris ;  and 
Valerian  Stefanovic  has  now  lost  the  clue.  We  have 
thus  only  one  person  left  of  the  original  three,  the  person 
denoted  in  the  cipher  as  Number  Four.  And  Number 
Four,  we  now  know,  must  be  living  at  Moscow.' 

*  Unless  we  can  get  Number  Four's  real  name  and 
address,'  Nikita  put  in  timidly,  *  1  don't  see — subject  to 
your  Excellency's  opinion — that  the  present  find  brings 
us  much  nearer  identifying  him.' 

*  Then  I  do,'  General  Selistoif  answered,  scanning  one 
of  the  papers  close  with  his  keen  eye  like  a  ferret's.  '  I 
see  a  great  deal.  I  see  my  way  out  of  it.  I  see  this 
means  not  only  that  we  shall  catch  Number  Four,  and 
orush  this  particular  plot — which  is  in  itself  no  small 
advantage— but  also  that  we  stand  a  fair  chance  at  last 
of  discovering  and  arresting  Euric  Brasso£f.' 

*  In  my  humble  opinion,'  the  chief  clerk  said  deferenti- 
ally, '  Prince  Euric  Brassoff  will  never  dare  to  show  his 
face  again  in  Eussia.' 

'  Pm  not  so  sure  of  that,'  the  General  answered  with 
decision,  still  gazing  hard  at  the  crabbed  square  of  cipher. 
'It's  dear,  from  all  these  letters  contain,  that  Four 
Hundred  and  Seventy-five  is,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  a 
very  important  person.  Now,  Four  Hundred  and  Seventy- 
five  was  in  Paris  last  week,  and  had  an  interview  in  the 
Eue  des  Saints  P^res  with  the  man  Stefanovic.  As 
Stefanovic  believed,  Four  Hundred  and  Seventy-five,  at 
the  time  of  writing,  was  then  on  his  way  to  Kie£f  and 
Moscow.  No  other  person,  I  assume,  except  Euric 
Brassoff  could  be  spoken  of  in  terms  of  such  profound 
secrecy.  For  even  while  Stefanovic  denounces  and 
declaims  against  Four  Hundred  and  Seventy-five  a?  a 
traitor  to  the  Cause,  he  is  obviously  terrified  for  his  own 
■afety ;  he  fears  Four  Hundred  and  Seventy-five's  power 
and  Four  Hundred  and  Seventy-five's  vengeance.  Now, 
who  sh-uld  that  be  if  it's  not  Euric  Brassoff?'  He 
scanned  the  letter  still  closer,  then  jotted  down  a  stray 
word  or  two  casually  on  a  blotting-pad.  '  Ha,  ha  t  See 
kerel'  h«  exclaimed  in  surprise,  holding  the  paper  up 


I: 

( ,1 


0/$  UNDB&  SBAXiBD  0RDB&8 

triumphantly.  'Look  what  I'to  disooverecl  now.  By 
the  cipher,  Forty-seven  would,  of  course,  be  B,  and  Five 
would  be  R  They  reverse  their  initials.  That  gives 
you  B.  B.— equals  R.  B. — Burio  Brassoft' 

*It  looks  very  like  it/  the  chief  olerk  aniwer«d 
cautiously,  surveying  the  paper. 

'  Very  like  it  I'  Alexis  Selistoft  went  on,  delighted  at 
his  own  intuition.  '  Tut,  tut,  tut,  man  I  It's  the  thing 
Itielf.  We're  on  his  track,  that's  certain.  These  letters 
imply  that  other  communications  to  the  same  effect  were 
■ent  by  the  same  means  to  Number  Four  at  Moscow. 
Number  One  doesn't  exist;  Number  Two's  Stefanovie; 
Number  Three's  Ossinsky ;  Number  Fout — well,  Number 
Four  we  shall  know  to-morrow.  I  see  s  clear  means  for 
getting  at  him  directly.' 

'  You  do  ?'  the  chief  olerk  exclaimed. 

*  Yet,  I  do,'  the  General  answered.  *  See  here.'  He 
raised  one  finger  with  didactic  conclusiveness.  'The 
man  Stefanovio,  when  he  sent  these  letters  from  Parii, 
was  elearly  unaware  that  Ossinsky  had  been  arrested  a 
fortnight  ago  at  Eieff.  So  also  was  the  person  or  persons 
unknown  who  redirected  them  on  from  Berlin  or  Gharlot- 
tenburg.  If  Burio  Brassoff — for  we'll  take  it  for  granted 
for  the  present  Number  Four  Hundred  and  Seventy-five 
it  Burio  Brassoff — if  Buric  Brassoff  remains  also  unaware 
of  the  fact,  then  he'U  come  on  direct  to  Ossinsky's  house 
at  EiefiF — and  there  we'll  catch  him  easily.  But  it  isn't 
likely  that'll  happen.  The  people  at  Eieff  would  be  sure 
to  eommunicate  at  once  the  fact  of  Ossinsky's  arrest  to 
that  mysterious  woman,  ciphered  as  Number  Forty-three, 
whom  Madame  Mireff  has  followed  about  so  indefatigably 
round  Europe,  apd  whom  she  tracked  the  other  day  to 
&  house  in  Berlin.  Number  Forty-three  would,  in  turn, 
no  doubt,  communicate  it  at  once  to  Buric  Brassoff.  So 
Burio  Brasso£f  won't  go  to  Eieil ;  but  he  will  go,  unless 
I'm  immensely  mistaken,  to  Moscow.' 

*  Put  his  head  into  the  lion's  mouth  ?*  the  chief  olerk 
murmured  incredulously. 

'  And  get  it  bitten  off — yes  I'  General  Selistoff  answered 
with  warmth.  '  See  here,  Nikita.  You  don't  know  that 
man  as  well  as  I  do.    He  was  eighteen  months  ia  my 


nuUPS  FOB.  JPOZE8  «f 

own  regiment  in  the  Gaucasui.  He'd  do  cr  dare  any- 
thing. If  Burio  Brassoff  wants  to  come  to  Bussia,  to 
Bussia  Burio  Brassoff  will  certainly  come.  And  he'd 
walk  down  the  Newski  Prospect  at  three  in  the  after- 
noon, with  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole,  if  every  policeman 
in  Petersburg  was  sharp  on  the  look-out  for  him  at  all 
the  street  corners.' 

'  But  your  Excellency'!  plan  is T  Nikit^^  asked  in 

■nspensa 

*  This.  Tou  shall  carry  it  out  yonrseU.  Why,  nothing 
oould  be  easier.  You  take  the  first  train  across  the 
German  frontier.  If  we  telegraph  from  Petersburg  or 
Moscow,  that  would  excite  suspicion.  So  you  get  out 
at  Eonigsberg,  or  Eydtkuhnen,  or  where  you  will,  und 
send  a  message  in  cipher  to  Stefanovic  at  Paris,  signing 
it  Number  Three,  which  is  Ossinsky's  right  signature. 
Here's  your  telegram.  I'll  write  it  out.  Strike  while 
the  iron's  hot.  The  sooner  we  put  this  plan  into  execu- 
tion the  better.' 

He  dipped  a  pen  hastily  into  the  ink-bottle  by  his 
■ide,  and  scribbled  down  a  few  lines. 

'Stefanovic,  28,  Bue  des  SaintB  P^res,  Parii.  Just 
across  the  frontier.  Letter,  instructions  to  hand. 
Bumoured  arrest  entirely  unfounded.  Police  on  the 
track.  Telegraph  in  same  cipher,  at  once,  to  Number 
Four  at  Moscow.  His  letters  have  gone  wrong.  Send 
openly  to  him  by  name.  No  danger  at  all.  Delay  may 
be  fatal 

'NUMBBB  ThBBB,  EtDTKUHNMI.* 

Alexis  Selistoff  surveyed  his  handicraft  with  a  qniel 
smile  of  cruel  satipfaction. 

'  That'll  do,  I  lie  iter  myself,'  he  said,  handing  it  aorois 
to  Nikita,  '  when  it's  put  into  cipher.' 

The  chief  clerk  ran  his  eye  over  it,  enchanted. 

'  Capital,  Excellency  1'  he  answered,  rubbing  his  hands 
softly  together  at  the  well-planned  ruse.  '  Ht'U  telegraph 
back,  of  course,  to  Number  Four,  by  his  real  name  and 
address ;  and  you'll  instruct  the  telegraph  administration 
to  intercept  the  message.' 

*  Quit*  10,'  tht  Qon«ral  aniwezed,  itiU  giiml  j  trivoM 


VNOKR  SEALBB  ORDBSB 


i!l 


pha.ni  'I  lanoy  it's  a  good  oard,  and  if  it  tnmf  Qf 
trumps  we  ought  to  be  ablo  to  catoh,  not  only  this  in- 
significant Number  Four,  whoever  he  may  be,  bat  what's 
much  more  important,  Buric  Brassofif  hims^  in  person 
alsa' 

*  Yon  think  so  ?'  Nikita  mused  Interrogatively. 

'  Think  ?  I'm  almost  sure  of  it.  Look  your  facts  in 
the  face.  Buric  Brasso£f'8  well  on  his  way  to  Moscow 
before  now,  and  we'll  watch  for  him  carefully  at  Number 
Four*"  address,  whenever  we  find  it.  .  .  .  Mind,  no  pre- 
cipitancy, Nikita ;  caution,  caution,  caution  1  Don't  try 
so  arrest  Number  Four,  however  sure  you  maybe  of  him, 
without  my  leave.  What  I  want  is  not  so  much  him  as 
Buric  Brassoff.  It's  clear  Buric  Brassofif  is  at  present 
going  the  rounds  of  his  fellow-conspirators  for  some  very 
Aorious  and  important  purpose.  Sooner  or  later  he'll 
get  on  to  Moscow.  We  must  watch  and  wait.  Better 
Mde  our  own  time.  .  • .  Now  go  and  work  that  telegram 
out  into  the  cipher.' 


OHAPTEB  XLV, 

k  Itk  BU88B. 

ii  isn't  so  easy  for  a  '  contraband  person/  as  they  say 
in.  Bussia,  to  get  across  the  frontier  to  Moscow  un- 
obser\  ed.  Even  the  familiar  tweed  suit  of  the  British 
<ourip:,  however  large  its  checks,  doesn't  sufiQce  to  pro- 
tect ( ae.  Mr.  Hayward  was  so  conscious,  indeed,  of  the 
numberless  difficulties  which  lay  in  his  way,  that  on 
second  thoughts  he  didn't  attempt  to  go  by  the  direct 
route,  vid  Wihia  and  Minsk,  bu «  took  the  cross-country 
train  instead,  by  Dunaburg  and  Smolensk.  At  the  last 
little  town  he  descended  for  the  night  at  the  seoond-rate 
hotel— accommodation  is  bad  off  the  main  lines,  of  oourst 
—moaning  to  continue  his  journey  next  day  to  Moscow. 
But  Bussia  is  Bussia.  Along  certain  familiar  tourist  tracks. 
it  is  true,  the  police  and  the  public  are  fairly  accustomed 
by  this  time  to  the  inexplicable  vagaries  of  the  Western 
traveller;  and  though  all  foreign  visitors  are  duly  noted 


A  LA  RUSSB 


•Bi 


and  nvmbered  and  kept  in  view  by  the  authorities,  from  the 
moment  they  arrive  till  they  leave  the  country,  they  arp 
not  openly  molested  by  minute  or  obtrusive  police  super 
vision.  Off  the  beaten  track,  however,  a  stranger  is  a 
rarity,  and  he  has  to  account  for  his  presence  and  his 
business  in  the  place  to  the  local  magnates  by  a  most 
stringent  inquisition.  Mr.  Hayward  soon  found  he  had 
committed  a  grievous  error  in  making  that  ill-advised 
detour  by  Duncsburg.  The  authorities  were  most  curious 
as  to  his  reasons  for  adopting  so  unusual  a  routa  Why 
had  he  turned  so  far  out  of  his  way  !f  he  was  going  at 
last  to  Moscow  ?  Why  had  he  stopped  the  night  at  such 
a  place  as  Smolensk  ?  Why  did  he  want  to  see  anything 
of  rural  Russia  ?  Why  had  he  tried  at  all  to  break  his 
journey  anywhere  ? 

Mr.  Hayward  answered  as  unconcernedly  as  he  could, 
with  a  very  innocent  air,  that  he  was  an  English  tourist 
who  wanted  to  form  an  opinion  for  himself  of  the  agri- 
cultural provinces.  But  that  answer  only  provoked  the 
itpravnik's  suspicions  still  more. 

'  To  write  about  it  in  the  papery  I  suppose  ?'  he  said, 
with  a  shght  sneer,  in  his  very  bad  French;  for  Mr. 
Hayward,  of  course,  affected  complete  ignorance  of  his 
native  Russian.  *  Yes,  that's  the  way  with  you  English. 
You  spy  out  everything.  But  we  Russians  don't  want 
you  to  come  peering  about  our  country  without  good 
reason.  You  must  justify  your  presence  by  business  or 
affairs.  Let  me  see  your  passport  again,  ii  you  please, 
Monsieur  Mortimer.' 

Mr.  Hayward  handed  it  back  to  him. 

'  From  Paris,'  the  ispravnik  said  slowly,  conning  it  over 
k>  himself,  with  the  true  Jack-in-office  air  of  great  wisdom 
and  cunning.  '  And  you  stopped  at  Berlin  on  the  way 
Well,  that's  odd  now,  certainly.  Why  should  an  English* 
man  come  from  London  to  Moscow  vid  Paris  and  Duna- 
burg?  This  thing  must  be  looked  into,  sir.  You  are 
detained  for  the  present,  while  I  communicate  with 
Petersburg.' 

It  was  with  profound  misgivings  that  Mr.  Haywaid 
retired  that  evening  into  his  narrow  bedroom  at  the 
Smolensk  inn.    He  slef  t  very  badly.    The  room  was 


t8t 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


lljl 


confined,  stnfipy,  ill  ventilated.  He  felt  a  choking  in  hin 
throat.  Towards  morning  he  began  to  get  distinctly  ill 
Ha  tried  to  rise,  but  found  he  wasn't  strong  enough. 
Hastily  he  sent  round  for  a  local  doctor.  The  doctor 
came,  t^nd  examined  him  with  some  care.  Very  little 
doubt  what  was  the  matter,  he  said.  It  was  a  case  of 
diphtheria. 

Diphtheria  1  Mr.  Hayward's  heart  sank  within  him  at 
the  sound.  He  must  get  up  at  all  risks,  doctor  or  inspector 
to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  and  pursue  his  journey 
straight  ahead  to  Moscow.  If  he  died  here  at  Smolensk, 
why,  Owen's  life  wouldn't  be  worth  six  months'  purchase. 
That  vindictive  Stefanovic  I  Those  incriminating  papers! 
He  was  a  British  subject ;  he  brandished  his  passport 
ostentatiously  in  the  doctor's  face.  He  must  go  on  at 
once;  it  was  important  business. 

But  the  doctor  shook  his  head.  At  St.  Petersburg  or 
Moscow,  perhaps,  where  people  are  more  accustomed  to 
the  ways  of  those  mad  English,  his  protest  might  have 
been  successful.  At  Smolensk,  a  mere  straggling  country 
town,  with  a  big  military  garrison,  it  was  worse  than  use- 
less. The  doctor  gave  orders  to  the  host  as  he  went 
downstairs : 

'  See  at  your  peril  ^on  don't  let  that  lunatic  in  N  imber 
Twelve  escape.  His  disease  is  contagious ;  it  might  become 
epidemic' 

And  the  ispravnik  had  warned  him  the  night  before : 

'  If  you  allow  the  suspected  person  in  this  room  to 
leave  the  town  without  a  written  order  from  the  super* 
intendent  of  police,  you  shall  answer  for  it  with  your  own 
back.' 

And  the  host  nodded  wisely. 

For  three  days,  accordingly,  Mr.  Hayward  lay  there, 
between  life  and  death,  in  an  agony  of  suspense,  remorse, 
and  horror.  If  he  died,  all  was  up ;  if  he  lived,  he  might 
arrive  too  late  at  Moscow  to  avert  the  catastrophe.  And 
when  the  diphtheria  itself  began  to  get  better,  the  doctor 
reported  he  was  suffering  as  well  from  low  malarial  fever. 
It  was  that  hateful  inn.  Mr.  Hayward  fumed  and  fretted. 
Germs  flew  about  visibly.  Week  passed  after  week,  and 
itill  h«  lay  there  lika  a  log.    What  might  be  happeaing 


! 


A  I^  RUSSB 


•«3 


meanwhile  at  Moscow  he  hadn't  the  sliglifcest  idea.  He 
daren't  telegraph  to  London ;  he  daren't  write  to  Olga 
Mireff  at  Berlin  for  news.  He  lay  there  all  alone,  and 
untonded,  in  that  dirty  little  room,  eating  his  heart  out 
with  delay,  and  retarding  his  own  recovery  meanwhile  by 
his  profound  anxiety. 

One  thing,  however,  he  had  happily  been  able  to  do. 
The  very  first  evening,  after  the  ispravnik  had  gone,  and 
while  he  feared  detection,  he  had  written  a  hasty  line  to 
Fomenko  at  Moscow,  and  posted  it  openly,  though  unob- 
served, in  the  letter-box  of  the  hotel  It  was  in  cipher, 
of  course,  but  otherwise  plain  enough.  It  said  these  few 
words  only : 

'  I  am  on  my  way  to  Moscow.  Do  nothing  rash  till  I 
oome.  Believe  no  foolish  ravings.  I  may  be  delayed,  but 
wait  for  my  arrival.  Bemember,  I  am  your  chief.  Implicit 
obedience  is  more  necessary  than  ever. 

'  Yours,  for  Busaia, 

*£uBio  Brasboff/ 

And  at  St.  Petersburg,  meanwhile.  General  Alexis 
Selistoff  had  received  news,  with  great  delight,  of  a 
suspicious  person  who  had  descended  unexpectedly  at 
the  hotel  at  Smolensk.  Brisk  telegrams  parsed  quickly 
to  and  fro  between  the  bureau  of  the  Third  Section  and 
the  little  provincial  office.  The  stranger  had  come  from 
England,  it  seemed,  and  had  an  English  passport,  but 
he  was  last  from  Paris  direct,  as  shown  by  the  recent 
visa  of  the  Bussian  Embassy.  Moreover,  he  had  stopped 
on  his  way  at  Berlin,  no  doubt  for  oommuniaation  with 
the  refugees  at  Gharlottenburg. 

Alexis  Selistoff  twisted  his  grizzled  gray  moustache 
Btill  more  nervously  than  usual  in  his  intense  excitement. 
Gould  this  be  the  man  they  were  so  eagerly  in  search  of 
— the  Four  Hundred  and  Seventy-five  who  was  to  proceed, 
on  the  quest  of  Number  Four,  to  Moscow  ?  What  more 
likely?  What  more  natural?  He  would  have  gone  in 
that  o&se  from  England  to  Paris  to  see  Valerian  Stefa^ 
norie,  as  they  knew  Four  Hundred  and  Seventy-fire  had 
done.    Then  on  to  Berlin,  to  visit<  that  mysterioaa  wonuui 


il 


tTNDBR  SBALKD  ORDERS 


IK 


ii         > 


:it 


whom  Olgft  Mire£F  was  always  dogging,  and  who,  no 
doubt,  had  forwarded  the  letters  to  Ossinsky  at  Kieff. 
Thence  to  Mosoow  by  devious  ways — such  as  Smolensk 
vid  Dunaburg. 

Alexis  Selistoff  stroked  his  chin  with  unconcealed 
delight.  They  were  running  the  fox  to  earth  at  last,  it 
was  clear.  He  believed  he  had  his  hand  on  Buric  Brassoff. 

But  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  take  him  till  he  knew  all 
was  safe.  He  must  prove  it  up  to  the  hilt.  He  must 
be  sure  of  his  prisoner. 

*  And  meanwhile,  good  Mr.  Ispravnik  at  Smolensk,  I 
beg  of  you,  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  this  man.  Don't  let 
him  escape,  but  above  all,  don't  let  him  guess  for  a 
moment  you're  watching  him.' 

And  then,  one  day  Uter,  good  news  from  Moscow  I 
Ea,  ha  I  a  great  victory  1 

*  The  telegram  in  cipher  which  your  Excellency  desired 
should  be  intercepted  en  route  has  come  to  hand  to-day. 
It  is  directed* — Alexis  SelistofPs  eyes  gleamed  bright  at 
the  sight — *  to  Michael  Fomenko,  24,  Slav  Bazar  Street.' 

The  chief  of  the  Third  Section  held  it  up  for  some 
minutes  in  triumph,  and  gazed  at  it  before  he  proceeded 
to  decipher  it  This,  then,  was  Number  Four's  address 
—24,  Slav  Bazar  Street.  His  ruse  had  succeeded.  He 
had  found  out  the  house  where  Four  Hundred  and 
Seventy-five,  be  he  Burio  Brassoff  or  not,  was  so  soon  to 
present  himself. 

After  a  minute  or  two  he  began  painfully  to  spell  out 
the  words  and  sentences  of  the  r/'phered  message.  They 
didn't  tell  him  much,  to  be  sure ;  but  ai  far  as  they  went 
they  confirmed  his  suspicions. 

*  Michael  Fomenko,  24,  Slav  Bazar  Street.  Number 
Three  telegraphs  to  me  from  Eydtkuhnen  that  he  is  safe 
across  the  frontier,  and  that  rumours  of  his  arrest  are 
entirely  false.  Police  on  the  track.  Beware  of  Four 
Hundred  and  Seventy-five.  He  came  to  me  here  and 
tried  to  extort  from  me  my  copy  of  sealed  envelopes,  I 
believe  he  has  turned  traitor.  Perhaps  Forty-three  has 
tamed  traitor  with  him. 

*NUMI3]BS  Two,  PlBIii' 


A  hk  RUSSB  ^ 

Alezii  Selistoff  pressed  his  belt 
The  chief  clerk  entered. 

*  Nlkita,'  the  General  said,  holding  the  telegram  In  on« 
hand,  '  this  is  very  important.  Wire  at  once  to  the 
ispraonik  at  Smolensk  that  no  difficulties  must  be  thrown 
in  the  way  of  the  Englishman  Mortimer.  As  soon  as 
he's  well  enough,  he  is  to  be  permitted  to  go  where  he 
^dll,  to  Moscow  or  elsewhere.  But  on  no  account  must 
he  be  lost  sight  of  for  one  single  second,  or  allowed  to 
get  across  the  frontier  out  of  the  country.' 

The  chief  clerk  bowed. 

*  It  shall  be  attended  to,  Excellency,'  he  answered,  all 
compliance. 

'  And  look  here,'  Alexis  Selistoff  went  on,  thinking  it 
out  as  he  spoke ;  '  I  shall  want  this  fellow  watched — 
watched  closely,  discreetly,  by  a  competent  person.  I 
can't  trust  that  meddling  busybody  of  an  inspector  at 
Smolensk.  He'll  frighten  our  man,  and  give  him  warning 
beforehand.  He's  got  no  gumption.  That's  not  what  I 
want.  We  must  give  him,  above  all  things,  rope  enough 
to  hang  himself  with.  .  .  .  Nikita,  you  must  go  yourseli 
You're  the  man  for  the  place.  You've  managed  the 
business  at  Eydtkuhnen  very  well.  You  must  manage 
this  one,  too.  .  .  .  Bun  down  to  Smolensk  as  a  com- 
mercial traveller.  I'll  give  you  a  note  to  the  inspector 
completely  superseding  him.  Let  this  fellow  who  calls 
himself  Mortimer  have  his  own  way  in  everything  and  do 
just  as  he  likes.  Throw  dust  in  his  eyes,  and  no  obstacles 
in  his  path.  Make  the  inspector  apologize  to  him  for 
needlessly  annoying  a  British  subject.  Wait  a  bit. 
Write  a  letter  before  you  go  reprimanding  our  ispravmk^ 
and  make  the  ispravnik  show  it  to  him.  Too  much  seal 
— you  know  the  kind  of  thing — dijolomatic,  cautious — too 
much  misplaced  zeal  in  interfermg  with  subjects  of  a 
friendly  Power.  But  don't  overdo  it.  Bemember,  if  its 
Buric  Brassoff,  Buric  Brassoff's  a  Bussian,  and  he  knows 
our  ways.  To  put  things  too  strong  would  only  open  his 
eyes  and  excite  his  suspicion.  Let  him  go  where  he 
likes,  but  keep  a  close  watch  on  him.  Not  obtrusive, 
don't  you  know.  No  soldiers  dressed  up  in  plain  clothes 
and  walking  in  pairs — one,  two ;  one,  two ;  onsi  two— 


J 


1. 


ii. 


a8f  UNDER  SEAI<ED  ORDERS 

like  ft  regiment.  Few  picked  men,  all  nnlike,  all  natnraL 
Don't  rouse  his  attention.  But,  one  or  otlier  of  yon, 
keep  firm  watch  on  him  till  he  gets  to  Moscow.  I'll 
manage  about  Michael  Fomenko  myself.  His  house 
shall  be  watched,  too.  We're  on  the  point  of  Buiprising 
them.' 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 


OBOSSING  THB  BUBIOON. 


Wbekb  passed  before  Mr.  Hayward  was  well  enough  to 
leave  Smolensk.  But  before  he  left,  it  was  some  com- 
fort to  him  to  see  that  all  suspicion  as  to  his  nationality 
had  entirely  disappeared,  and  that  the  police  had  ceased 
to  trouble  themselves  about  his  movements  in  any  way. 
Indeed,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  the 
blustering  inspector  had  to  eat  humble  pie;  for  the 
fellow  came  to  the  hotel,  while  Mr.  Hayward  was  still 
very  iU,  and  made  most  profuse  apologies  for  his  unin- 
tentional rudeness  to  a  British  subject.  Nay,  he  even 
showed,  at  the  same  time,  by  official  command,  a  de- 
partmental letter  he  had  received  that  day  from  his  chief 
at  St.  Petersburg.  Mr.  Hayward  smiled  to  read  it— 
'twas  so  intensely  Bussian.  He  saw  in  a  moment  it  wasi 
meant  to  be  taken  two  ways.  The  supposed  angry  Eng- 
lishman was  expected  to  accept  it  as  a  complete  snub  for 
the  inspector  and  a  victory  for  himself,  while  the  in- 
spector's pride  was  gracefully  salved  at  the  same  time  by 
a  careful  reservation  or  two  as  to  the  abstract  right  of 
the  police  to  interrogate  foreigners  whenever  they  thought- 
it  necessary.  Nikita,  indeed,  had  done  his  work  well. 
He  had  succeeded  in  blinding  even  Eurio  Brassof^ 

From  that  day  forth,  accordingly,  the  police  gave  him 
no  more  trouble.  He  was  allowed  to  do  as  he  Uked,  and. 
what  he  specially  noted  was  the  gratifying  fact  that  no 
spy  or  detective  was  set  to  watch  him.  Mr.  Hayward 
Imew  well  the  Bussian  spy,  his  clumsiness  and  his  awk- 
wurdnesB.  He  remembered  him  in  the  great  npheaval 
of  1871  M  though  it  had  been  bat  yeiteraAy.    It 


CROSSING  THB  RUBICON 


»8. 


the  easiest  thing  in  the  world,  indeed,  to  recognise  the 
mouchard.  That  emharrassed  air,  that  ostentatious  care- 
lessness, that  glance  full  of  suspicion  and  fear  which  he 
fixes  upon  the  countenance  of  every  passer-by —  these  are 
signs  which  can  never  deceive  an  experienced  eye  like 
Boric  Brassoff'g.  And  yet  those  men  shrink  from  look- 
ing you  full  in  the  face,  for  all  that ;  they  skulk  and 
elanoe  sideways ;  they  slink  by  and  look  askance  to  see 
if  you  notice  them.  So  different  from  the  frank  gaze  of 
the  honest  commercial  traveller,  for  example,  who  came 
from  Petersburg  to  Smolensk  during  Mr.  Hayward's  ill- 
ness, and  who  talked  bad  French  to  him  now  and  again 
when  he  was  beginning  to  be  convalescent,  in  the  poky 
little  billiard-room.  A  good-humoured,  light-hearted 
fellow,  that  blunt  commercial  gentleman — he  travelled 
in  tea — but  provincial,  very.  It  was  amusing  to  hear 
him  discuss  Mr.  Hayward's  dress  and  Mr.  Hayward's 
English  manners,  before  his  very  face,  to  the  smiling  and 
nodding  hotel-keeper.  Of  course  he  had  no  idea  the  man 
in  the  tweed  suit  understood  Bussian,  so  he  was  frank- 
ness itself  in  his  brasque  comments  on  the  stranger. 

•  That's  the  way  with  these  English,  you  know,'  he  re- 
marked to  the  landlord  one  evening,  taking  his  cigarette 
from  his  mouth  and  laughing  unobtrusively.  '  They're 
the  most  conceited  nation  in  Europe,  to  my  mind — the 
most  self-confident,  the  most  pig-headed.  At  Orel,  where 
I  came  from,  we  always  call  them  pigs  of  English.  This 
fellow,  for  instance,  talks  about  Bussia  already,  after  six 
weeks  in  the  country,  spent  mostly  in  bed,  as  if  he  knew 
all  about  it  by  a  sort  of  intuition.  He'll  go  home  and 
write  a  book  on  us,  I  expect,  before  he's  done :  •'  Six 
Weeks  in  Bussia,  with  a  Plan  for  a  Constitution  " — 
thaVs  the  English  way.  Ah,  we  know  a  thing  or  two,  I 
can  tell  you,  down  yonder  at  Orel  1 — I  beg  your  pardon, 
monsieur,  for  addressing  my  compatriot  for  a  moment  in 
his  own  tongue.  He  understands  but  little  French,  as 
you  are  aware.  We  Easterns  are  still  barbarians.  I  was 
remarking  to  him  upon  the  singular  insight  you  English 
possess  in  dealing  with  the  a£fairs  of  foreign  countries. 
Your  knowledge  of  our  chart  cter,  for  example,  after  so 
Wef  an  aoquaint«no«  with  our  people,  seems  to  iu« 


tm  UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 

nothing  ihort  of  marvelloas.  But  there  t  yoa  Englisli 
lead  civilization,  of  course.  The  French  and  German! 
don't  understand  that.  We  luissiaus,  who  watch  the 
game  from  afar,  we  know  it ;'  and  he  winked  at  the 
landlord  obtrusively. 

Mr.  Hayward  smiled  a  grim  smile.  An  honest  fellow, 
this  traveUor,  though  he  thought  himself  so  clever.  But 
if  Alexis  Selistoff  could  have  seen  his  chief  clerk  Nikita 
as  he  uttered  those  words,  both  in  Eussian  and  in  French, 
with  perfect  solemnity,  he  would  have  clapped  the  man 
en  the  back  with  effusive  delight,  and  have  recommended 
him  to  the  Czar  forthwith  for  immediate  promotion. 

At  last  the  time  came  when  Mr.  Hayward  might  mov& 
He  was  still  weak  and  ill,  but  the  good-humoured  com- 
mercial gentleman  from  Orel,  who  travelled  in  tea  for  a 
firm  in  Petersburg,  kindly  volunteered  to  see  him  off  at 
the  station.  That  was  really  very  nice  of  him.  Mr. 
Ha3rward  didn't  notice,  however,  that,  after  seeing  him 
o£^  the  good-humoured  commercial  gentleman,  unencum- 
bered  by  sample-boxes,  went  round  to  the  other  platform 
and  entered  a  special  carriage  of  the  self-same  train  by 
the  opposite  side — a  carriage  already  occupied  by  two 
distinguished  gentlemen  of  military  appearance.  Nor 
did  he  observe,  either,  when  they  reached  Moscow,  that 
one  of  these  gentlemen  followed  him  close  in  a  sleigh  to 
the  BMel  du  Bazar  Slave,  where  he  meant  to  put  up,  so 
as  to  be  near  Fomenko. 

That  night  Buric  Brassoff  slept  soundly  in  a  bed  in  the 
town  he  knew  so  well.  It  was  strange  to  be  there  again. 
It  made  the  Russian  heart  throb  hard  within  his  weather- 
beaten  breast  to  feel  himself  once  more  in  the  great  heart 
of  Russia. 

Next  morning  early  he  rose,  and  after  his  coffee  and 
roll — how  good  they  tasted ! — sauntered  out  into  the 
streets  with  a  swinging  gait,  looking  about  him  right  and 
left,  like  the  English  tourist  he  personated.  Yes,  it  was 
Moscow  still — that  old,  familiar  Moscow.  The  time  was 
winter.  The  same  nipping,  dry  air ;  the  same  slush  in 
the  streets ;  the  same  dirty-brown  snow ;  the  same  fur- 
covered  mob  of  passors-by  as  over.  In  the  brighii 
Eaptexm  lunlight  the  gaudy  Oriental  decorations  of  th« 


CROSSING  THE  RUBICON 


Eremlin  glittered  and  shimmered  as  of  old  in  barbario 
splendour.  The  churches  stared  down  upon  him  with 
myriad  hues  of  green  and  gold  as  in  his  shadowy  ohild< 
hood.  The  icicles  shone  on  the  eaves  as  ever.  Only  ho 
himself  was  changed.  He  saw  it  all  now  with  Western, 
not  with  Eussian,  eyes  ;  it  was  a  measure  to  him  of  the 
distance  he  had  traversed  meanwhile.  He  used  once  to 
think  Moscow  so  grand  a  city. 

The  streets,  he  soon  noticed,  as  he  strolled  on  his  way, 
were  chock-full  of  spies.  In  point  of  fact,  Moscow  was 
just  then  passing  through  one  of  her  periodical  Nihilistic 
scares.  The  Czar  was  expected  before  long,  people 
said,  and  police  activity  was  everywhere  at  its  amplest. 
Mr.  Hay  ward's  heart  beat  high  with  long  unwonted  ex- 
citement. This  was  just  like  old  times  I  Spies  1  spies  1 
how  familiar  1  And  how  comic  they  were,  too,  these 
temporary  detectives;  private  soldiers  dressed  up  as 
civilians  by  the  batch,  and  patrolling  the  streets  here  and 
there  in  search  of  the  contraband.  But  they  took  no 
notice  of  him.  They  mooned  about  in  Uttle  parties,  like 
men  accustomed  for  many  years  to  concerted  movement, 
and  incapp/ble  of  forgetting  the  ingrained  lessons  of  the 
drill-sergeant.  Then  their  dress,  too,  how  grotesque  1 
In  the  hurry  of  the  moment,  it  was  impossible  to  obtain 
different  clothes  for  each ;  so  whole  squads  had  the  same 
hats,  the  same  coats,  the  same  trousers.  The  very  varia- 
tions only  heightened  the  absurdity.  Some  carried  light 
sticks  to  give  them  ease  and  swagger,  while  others  wore 
great  blue  spectacles  poised  awkwardly  on  their  noses  to 
make  them  look  as  much  as  possible  like  university 
students.  But  it  was  all  in  vain :  soldier  and  spy, 
soldier  and  spy,  soldier  and  spy,  was  written  in  plain 
words  across  the  face  of  every  one  of  them. 

However,  they  never  glanced  at  Mr.  Hayward  at  all. 
A  mere  English  tourist.  He  observed  that  with  pleasure. 
Not  a  soul  turned  to  look  at  him.  Only,  a  long  way  off, 
at  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  a  very  different  person 
lounged  slowly  and  unobtrusively  along  the  pathway 
after  him.  This  person  didn't  in  the  least  resemble  a 
spy,  or  a  common  soldier  either.  He  was  a  gentleman 
in  appearance,  and  might  have  been  taken  for  a  doctor, 

19 


a90 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


or  a  lawyer,  or  a  Government  official.  He  nerer  oam« 
unpleasantly  near  Mr.  Hayward,  or  excited  attention  in 
any  way.  He  merely  lounged  on,  keeping  his  man 
always  in  sight,  and  occasionally  looking  in  a  nonchalant 
way  into  shops  at  the  comer.  He  shadowed  him  imper- 
ceptibly. 

At  last  Mr.  Hayward  returned,  and  in  the  most 
casual  fashion  made  his  way  once  more  to  the  Slav 
Bazar  Street.  At  Number  24  he  stopped  short  and  rang 
the  belL  The  dvomik,  or  porter,  answered  the  summons 
at  once. 

'  Is  Michael  Fomenko  at  home  ?'  Mr.  Hayward  asked 
boldly — for  the  first  time,  in  Bussian. 

And  the  porter  made  answer : 

'  He  is  at  home.  Third  floor.  Letter  H  on  the  corri- 
dor.    Go  on  up  and  you'll  find  him.' 

Mr.  Hayward  went  up,  and  knocked  at  the  door  the 
man  had  indicated. 

'  Who's  there  ?'  a  shrill  voice  asked  from  within. 

And  Mr.  Hayward  replied  in  i.  very  low  tone,  almoit 
whispering : 

'  Four  Hundred  and  Seventy-five.    Open  to  him.' 

There  was  a  second's  hesitation,  then  a  man's  face 
peeped  half  uncertain  through  the  chink  of  the  door.  It 
was  a  timid  young  face.  Mr.  Hayward  was  prepared  for 
such  indecision.  Quick  as  lightning  he  took  a  card  and 
a  pencil  from  his  pocket.  Before  the  man's  very  eyes  he 
wrote  down  in  a  well-known  hand  the  magic  name, 
'  Burio  Brassoft'  Fomenko  stared  at  it  for  a  second  in 
blank  amazement  and  doubt.  Then,  making  his  mind  up 
suddenly,  he  opened  the  door  wida 

'  Gome  in,'  he  said,  with  a  tinge  of  something  like  awe 
in  his  ringing  voice.  '  Four  Hundred  and  Seventy-five, 
I  welcome  you.' 

Mr.  Hayward  entered.  The  door  shut  quick  behind 
his  back.  The  fatal  step  was  taken.  He  was  in  Bussia 
once  more,  talking  Bussian  as  of  old,  and  closeted  dose 
in  Moscow  with  a  suspected  Nihilist. 

But  at  the  very  same  moment  that  he  mounted  the 
stairs  of  Number  24,  the  gentlemanly  person  who  had 
been  following  him  down  the  street  passed  oarelegsly 


CROSSING  THE  RUBICON 


*9i 


under  the  big  gateway  of  a  houee  opposite.  As  be  pa«ised 
it  his  manner  altered ;  he  grew  grim  and  formal  On 
the  first-floor,  he  entered  a  room  on  the  right  without 
knocking.  In  it  sat  the  good-humoured  commercial 
person  from  Orel,  who  travelled  in  tea,  and  who  had 
come  on  from  Smolensk.  He  was  seated  in  the  gloom, 
a  little  way  back  from  the  window  ;  the  blind  was  pulled 
rather  more  than  half-way  down ;  and  in  his  hand  he 
held  an  opera-glass.  He  was  looking  across  towards  the 
other  house  opposite. 

The  gentlemanly  person  nodded. 

•  Well,  Nikita,'  he  said  gaily,  in  a  triumphant  whisper, 
*  I  think  we've  secured  him.  Thib  is  our  man,  I  don't 
doubt.  If  he  isn't  Euric  Brassoff,  at  any  rate,  in  spite  of 
his  English  tweed  suit,  he  talks  Bussian  fluently.  For 
he  spoke  to  the  porter  a  long  sentence,  and  the  porter 
answered  him  at  once.  Now,  I  happen  to  know  our  good 
friend  Borodin,  who's  been  dvornik  over  there  by  my 
orders  for  a  fortnight,  doesn't  speak  a  single  word  of 
either  French  or  German.' 

Nikita  smiled  acquiescence. 

*  Yes,  we've  got  him  I'  he  said.    *  We've  got  him  t' 


CHAPTER  XLVn. 


A     BINOULAB     INOIDBNV. 


Michael  Foik^NEo's  room  was  a  bare  little  salon  on  the 
third-floor  of  fc.n  overgrown  Moscow  tenement-house,  let 
out  in  flats  and  apartments  after  the  Parisian  fashion. 
The  furniture  was  scanty  and  bourgeois  in  character — a 
round  table  in  the  middle,  a  square  sofa,  a  few  chairs, 
with  the  inevitable  samovar,  made  up  its  chief  contents. 
On  one  side  stood  a  desk,  with  locked  drawers  and  little 
pigeon-holes.  On  the  other,  a  door  led  into  a  cupboard 
in  the  wall,  or,  rather,  in  the  partition  which  separated 
the  room  from  the  adjoining  salon. 

This  adjoining  salon,  as  it  happened,  had  been  occupied 
for  some  days  by  the  gentlemanly  person  who  knew  Nikita- 

Ab  Mr.  Hayward  entered,  and  cast  a  glance  round  th« 


»9» 


UNDBR  SEALED  ORDISRS 


apartment,  he  saw  at  once  that  Fomenko  wm  greatly 
perturbed  at  his  arrival.  His  new  acquaintance — for 
fchey  had  known  one  another  hitherto  on  paper  only— 
was  an  earnest-looking  young  man  of  twenty-five  or 
thereabouts,  substituted  by  Mr.  Hayward  fa,s  one  of 
Owen's  *  trustees  '  after  the  death  of  Dimitri  Ogareff  in 
1887.  He  was  tall  and  fair,  a  journalist  by  trade,  but  a 
poet  by  temperament,  very  handsome  and  ardent,  with 
intense  blue  eyes,  and  delicate  quivering  nostrils,  like  a 
wild  horse  of  the  Ukraine.  There  was  a  look  of  eager- 
ness on  his  face,  too,  a  divine  unrest,  which  no  terror 
could  eclipse,  no  pallor  blot  out  from  it.  But  he  was 
doubly  alarmed,  just  then,  all  the  same,  at  Mr.  Hay  ward's 
presence.  In  the  first  place,  he  was  afraid  lest  spies 
should  discover  him  closeted  with  Ruric  Brassoff.  In 
the  second  place,  he  wasn't  sure  whether  this  was  really 
Rurio  Brassoff  himselr  at  all,  or  only  some  ingenious 
police  pretender.  Stefanovic's  letters  had  given  him 
grave  cause  to  doubt.  He  faltered  and  hesitated,  un- 
willing on  the  one  hand  to  incriminate  himself  to  a  possible 
spy,  or  on  the  other  hand  to  be  guilty  of  discourtesy  or 
suspicion  towards  the  re?A  Ruric  Brassoff. 

The  Chief,  however,  well  experienced  in  reading  every 
sentiment  of  the  revolutionary  heart,  divined  his  difficulty 
at  once,  and  met  it  wi'^h  perfect  candour. 

*  You  are  afraid,  Fo. «  '-o,'  he  said  kindly,  taking  the 
young  man's  arm  with  thu .  _'aternal  air  that  seemed  so 
natural  to  him  after  twenty  yea)'8'  intercourse  with  Owen 
Cazalet.  '  You  suspect  mo  of  being  a  spy.  My  dear 
friend,  I  don't  wonder.  It's  not  surprising  you  should 
think  me  so.  We  live  in  such  a  terror.  But  I'm  Rurio 
Brassoff,  all  the  same.  You  have  seen  my  o^ni  hand  for 
it.  Ask  me  what  other  proof  on  earth  you  will.  I  will 
satisfy  your  curiosity.' 

The  young  man,  taking  in  the  situa^ion  slowly,  hung 
back  once  more,  and  regarded  him  with  anxiety.  What 
was  this  he  had  done  ?  Already  he  had  admitted  more 
than  enough  to  hang  Limself.  Four  Hundred  and 
Seventy- five  I  Ruric  Brassoff?  The  police  were  so 
ubiquitous  1  He  had  let  the  man  in  on  the  strength  of 
such  assurances.     Suppose  he  was  really  a  ppy?    He 


A  SINGULAR  INCIDENT 


^99 


a 


f- 


gazefl  at  Mr.  Hayward  with  infinite  fear  and  distrust 
hovering  in  those  earliest  blue  eyes. 

<  There  must  be  some  mistake  somewhere,'  he  eaid, 
faltering.  '  I  know  nobody  of  the  name  of  Burio  Brassoff. 
And  Seven  Hundred  and  Forty-five — what  do  you  mean 
by  that  ?  This  is  Number  24.  Yon  must  have  mistaken 
your  directions.' 

A  soft  and  quiet  emile,  half  contempt,  half  pity,  played 
almost  unobserved  round  Mr.  Hayward's  aristocratic  lips. 
This  young  man  was  a  very  poor  conspirator  indeed, 
when  it  came  to  dealing  with  spies — but  he  was  good 
and  honest. 

*  My  dear  fellow,'  the  Chief  said  frankly,  seating  him- 
self in  a  chair,  and  drawing  it  up  to  the  table,  '  if  I  were 
really  a  detective,  all  this  beating  about  the  bush  would 
avail  you  nothing.  You're  shutting  the  stable  door,  as 
the  English  proverb  says,  after  the  steed  is  stolea  You've 
said  and  done  quite  enough  to  condemn  you  already. 
No  man  who  wasn't  one  of  us  would  for  a  moment  have 
admitted  me  on  that  name  and  number — above  all,  just 
now,  in  the  present  state  of  Moscow.  Don't  try  to  hedge 
in  that  futile  way.  If  I'm  a  spy  and  I  want  to  catch 
you,  I've  evidence  enough  and  to  spare  already.  If  I'm 
Ruric  Brassoff — as  I  am — don't  let  us  waste  any  more  of 
my  precious  time  upon  such  dangerous  nonsense.  Let's 
get  to  business  at  once.  I've  come  to  relieve  you  of  a 
great  responsibility.' 

<  Hush,  hush  I'  Fomenko  cried,  sitting  down  and  lean- 
ing across  towards  him  eagerly.  '  You  must  be  very 
careful  Mind  what  you  say  or  do.  We're  surrounded 
just  now  by  enemies  on  every  side.  I  can  see  them 
everywhere.  There's  a  lodger  downstairs,  for  example — 
a  woman  with  great  staring  eyes,  a  milliner  or  something 
—she's  a  spy,  I'm  certain.  And  there's  a  man  next  door, 
ft  sort  of  official  or  underling,  who  meets  me  on  the 
stairs  a  great  deal  oftener  than  I  think  at  all  natural ;  I 
believe  he's  watching  me.  I'd  have  moved  from  these 
apartments  long  ago,  in  fact,  and  cleared  them  of  doou- 
ments,  only  I  was  afraid  of  exciting  still  greater  suspicion 
If  I  went  away  elsewhere.  And  besides — I  was  waiting 
for — I  was  expecLiug  visitorg.' 


<  I; 


»94 


imDBR  SKAIyBD  ORDBItB 


'  Myself,  in  fact,'  Mr.  Hayward  suggested. 

*  Well,  at  any  rate  Ruric  Brassoff.' 
Mr.  Hayward  leaned  quietly  forward. 

*  Now,  Fomenko,  my  dear  friend,'  he  said,  in  a  rtffj 
grave  voice,  '  you've  admitted  the  fact  openly,  yourself, 
and  if  I  were  a  spy  I  should  by  this  time  have  everything 
I  could  wish  against  you.  But  I'm  not  a  spy.  As  I  told 
you  just  now,  I'm  Ruric  BrassolBf.  Why  do  you  hesitate 
to  believe  it  ?  That  handwriting  I've  just  showed  you  is 
the  hand  you  have  always  so  gladly  obeyed.  I  know 
your  devotion ;  no  patriot  more  eager.  If  I  had  sent  you 
an  order  through  the  regular  channels,  signed  with  that 
self-same  na;  ; — I  remember  your  fidelity  well — ^you 
know  yourself  you  would  implicitly  have  obeyed  it.' 

The  young  man  hesitated. 

'  Yes,  certainly,'  he  said  at  last,  '  if  it  came,  aa  you 
say,  through  the  regular  channels.' 

'  But  you  doubt  me,  all  the  same  T  And  he  looked  at 
him  reproachfully. 

Fomenko  smiled  a  faint  smile.  His  moral  courage 
was  great,  his  physical  courage  feeble. 

*  Spies  are  so  clever,*  he  murmured  low,  *  and  forgery's 
BO  easy.* 

•But  what  makes  you  doubt?' Mr.  Hayward  asked, 
laying  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  arm. 

'  Well,  I  saw  a  portrait  of  Ruric  Brassoff  onoe,' 
Fomenko  answered,  blushing,  '  and  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
dear  friend,  even  allowing  for  age  and  disguise  and  all 
that,  you  don't  in  the  least  resemble  him.* 

A  wonderful  light  dawned  in  Mr.  Hayward's  eyes 
With  an  outburst  of  emotion,  he  seized  the  young  map 
by  the  wrist,  and  pulled  him  towards  him  unresisting. 
The  manoauvre  was  well  devised.  The  magnetic  touch 
seemed  to  thrill  through  Fomenko's  frame,  as  it  had  often 
thrilled  through  Owen  Cazalet's.  Then,  in  a  low,  quick 
voice,  Mr.  Hayward  began  to  pour  into  his  brother  con- 
spirator's ear  the  same  astounding  tale  of  a  hard-won 
victory  over  nature  and  his  own  body  which  he  had 
poured  into  Olga  Mirelf  s  in  the  sanctum  at  Bond  Street. 
Fomenko  listened,  all  responsive,  with  a  sympathetic 
tremor  that  rang  resonant  through  his  imuost  mairow 


! 


A  SINGUIvAR  INCIDENT 


295 


The  effeot  was  marvellous.  As  Mr.  Hayward  went  on, 
the  young  man  flushed  rosy  red ;  all  doubt  and  fear  left 
him.  When  the  Chief  had  finished  his  tale,  Fomenko 
rose,  all  tremulous,  and  in  a  tumult  of  feeling  wrung  his 
hand  twice  or  thrice.  Then,  yielding  to  an  Oriental  im- 
pulse, he  fell  on  the  elder's  bosom  and  sobbed  aloud  for 
a  minute  with  almost  inaudible  murmurs.  He  spoke 
very  low  and  cautiously,  but  he  spoke  out  of  his  full 
heeurt. 

<£uric  Brassoff,  Burio  Brassoffl'  he  cried,  in  ft  tone  of 
profound  shame,  '  forgive  me,  forgive  me  1  If  for  one 
second  I  seemed  to  doubt  you,  it  was  not  you,  but  thamt 
that  I  feared  and  doubted.  I  doubt  no  longer  now.  I 
fear  no  longer  I  know  you  at  once  by  your  great 
words  for  Bussia's  truest  son.  I  thank  God  I  have  lived 
to  hear  that  noble  voice.  Command,  and  I  will  obey.  I 
am  yours,  for  Bussia.' 

A  sympathetic  moisture  stood  dim  in  Mr.  Hayward's 
eyes.  The  revolutionist  within  him  was  now  thoroughly 
awakened  once  more.  Ashamed  as  he  felt  of  himself  and 
of  the  double  part  he  was  perforce  playing,  he  was  yet 
proud  of  disciples  like  Michael  Fomenko.  And,  after  all, 
he  said  to  his  own  heart,  it  was  for  Bussia — for  Bussia. 
For  was  it  not  better  in  the  long-run  for  Bussia  that  she 
should  have  Owen  Cazalet's  sympathy  and  aid  from  afar 
off  in  England,  than  that  he  should  be  cut  off  in  all  his 
youth  and  strength  and  beauty,  who  might  do  and  dare  so 
much  in  quieter  and  more  peaceful  ways  to  serve  and 
befriend  her  ? 

He  sat  down  at  the  table,  took  a  pen  in  his  hand,  and 
wrote  a  few  words  on  a  scrap  of  paper,  which  he  handed 
to  Fomenko. 

'  There,'  he  said,  '  if  you  want  more  proof,  if  the  last 
order  I  sent  you,  from  the  inn  at  Smolensk.' 

But  Fomenko,  hardly  looking  at  it,  made  answer  in  ft 
tone  of  the  most  fervid  enthusiasm  : 

'  I  need  no  proof  at  all.  I  only  ask  your  pardon. 
Now  I  have  once  heard  Buric  Brassol'  's  own  grand  words, 
Burio  Brassoff's  own  authentic  voice,  I  require  nothing 
further.  Your  speech  is  f  uough.  It  is  the  tongue  of  a 
■Mr,  a  priest,  »  prophet' 


1! 


CNDSR  SBAI^KD  ORDERS 


The  Chief  took  his  hand  once  more.  He  wrong  ik 
hard.  He  held  it,  trembling.  Heart  went  oat  to  heart. 
They  two  thrilled  in  harmony.  For  a  moment  neither 
broke  that  sacred  silence.  Then  Burio  Brussoff  spoke 
again : 

'  And  yon  can  trust  me  ?'  he  asked  gently. 

•  Implicitly.' 

Again  the  great  Nihilist  pressed  his  follower's  hand 
hard.  Oh,  how  glad  he  was  he  had  to  deal  with  a  poet's 
soul  like  this,  instead  of  with  a  mere  suspicious  and  prag- 
matical fool  like  Valerian  Stefanovic  1 

'And  you  don't  mind  what  that  narrow  brain  has 
written  you  from  Paris  ?'  he  asked  again. 

The  young  man  smiled  an  fdmost  contemptuous 
smile. 

'  Stefanovic  I'  he  cried — '  Stefanovic  I  And  when  you 
are  in  question  I  Oh,  the  pathos  of  it,  the  absurdity  I 
Mind  what  that  poor  thing  says — that  poor,  cramped, 
small  nature  1  —  beside  Buric  Brassoff's  words  1'  He 
took  his  Chief's  palm  like  a  woman's  between  his  own 
two.  '  I  know  what  enthusiasm  means,'  be  went  on, 
leaning  over  it.  *  For  your  sake — in  your  company — I 
could  die,  Buric  Brassoff  1' 

The  Chief  stepped  back  just  one  pace,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  hard  on  the  yoiiiig  man's. 

'  Then,  give  me  back  the  sealed  envelope,'  he  said,  in 
a  tone  of  command  like  a  military  officer. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  Fomenko  hastened 
over  to  the  cabinet  at  the  side,  with  the  locked  drawers 
and  pigeon-holes,  took  a  key  from  his  pocket,  and  diQfr 
out  a  small  bundle  of  carefully  tied  documents.  From  it, 
after  a  short  search,  he  selected  an  envelope  with  a  large 
red  seal. 

'Take  your  own,  Buric  Brasso£FI'  he  said  in  a  very 
firm  voice,  handing  the  paper  across  to  him.  '  You 
know  better  than  I  what  is  best  for  Bussia.  I  hold  it  in 
trust  from  you.    Tlr  ough  I  die  for  it,  take  it  I' 

<  And  die  for  it  you  will  1'  a  loud  voice  interrupted. 
Someone  seized  hard  and  arm,  wid  intercepted  the  enve« 
lope. 

ill  an   agony  of   lurprise,   Michael  Fomenko  stared 


THB  VAI,I.EY  OP  THB  SHADOW 


«97 


found.  Boric  Brassoff,  by  his  side,  leaped  back  aston- 
ished. For  a  moment  the  young  journalist  was  dazed. 
It  was  the  voice  of  the  gentlemanly  man  who  had 
lodgings  on  the  same  floor;  and  beside  him  stood  the 
good-humoured  commercial  person  who  travelled  in  tea, 
and  whom  Burio  Brassoff  had  seen  at  Smolensk. 

In  the  background,  half  a  dozen  of  the  soldiers  in  plain 
•lothes  with  blue  spectacles  or  light  canes  came  tumb* 
ling  through  the  wall.  But  they  were  armed  with  short 
■words  BOWf  and  held  in  their  hand  regulation  revolverg. 


I    ■< 


ii 


CHAPTER  XLVIIL 

THB  YALLET  OF  THB  SHADOW. 

If  was  a  minute  or  two  before  Mr.  Hayward— or  Ruric 
Brassoff,  as  you  will — stunned  and  surprised  by  this 
Budden  invasion,  had  a  clear  enough  head  to  take  in 
what  had  happened.  Then,  as  he  gazed  about  him 
slowly,  with  one  soldier  on  each  side,  he  felt  his  arms 
being  helplessly  pinioned  behind  him,  he  began  to  realize 
all  was  up,  and  to  see  how  the  intruders  had  entered  so 
noiselessly. 

The  cupboard  door  on  the  opposite  side  from  the 
cabinet  now  stood  wide  open.  But  the  cupboard  itself, 
as  he  could  see  to  his  surprise,  had  no  back  or  partition  ; 
it  opened  direct  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  through 
the  temporary  doorway  thus  formed  he  could  catch  vista- 
of  still  more  soldiers  in  civilian  costume,  waiting  the 
word  of  command,  and  all  armed  with  revolvers.  In  a 
moment  he  recognised  how  they  had  managed  this  ccip 
ture.  The  soldiers  must  have  sawn  through  the  wooden 
back  of  two  adjacent  cupboards  beforehand,  and  at  th( 
exact  right)  moment  noiselessly  removed  the  whole  inter- 
Tening  woodwork,  shelves  and  contents  and  all,  so  as  t(  > 
give  access  direct  to  Fomenko's  apartment.  More  too  t 
Tb3  two  principals  must  have  listened  through  the  key- 
hole of  the  outermost  door  to  their  entire  conversation. 
One  flash  of  intuition  Sufliced  to  show  him  that  Alexis 
BiUstotf  8  myrmidons  now  knew  exactly  who  hs  was  and 


tsfi  UNDQR  8KALED  ORDERS 

why  he  oftme  there.  Low  as  they  two  had  spoken,  he 
couldn't  conceal  from  himself  the  fact  that  they  must 
have  heard  him  acknowledge  he  was  Baric  Brasso£^ 

The  good-humoured  commercial  traveller  stepped  for- 
ward with  an  air  of  authority  as  soon  as  the  chief 
Erisoner  was  safely  pinioned,  and  laid  his  hand  hard  on 
is  captive's  shoulder. 

'  Prince  Euric  Brassoff,'  he  said,  in  a  formal  voice,  '  I 
arrest  your  Excellency  on  a  charge  of  conspiracy  against 
his  Most  Sacred  and  Most  Orthodox  Majesty,  the  Czar 
of  All  the  Eussias.' 

'  Traitc  1'  Eurio  Brassoff  answered,  turning  upon  him 
with  a  face  of  the  utmost  contempt  and  loathing.  '  Vile 
■py  and  reptile,  I'm  ashamed  of  having  spoken  to  you.' 

The  commercial  gentleman  smiled  blandly  and  good- 
humouredly. 

*  Your  own  fault,'  he  said,  with  a  quiet  air  of  official 
triumph.  '  You  let  yourself  in  for  it.  You  should  choose 
your  acquaintances  better.  My  name  is  Nikita,  chief 
elerk  ana  secretary  to  General  Alexis  Selistoff.' 

He  turned  to  his  second  prisoner. 

*  Michael  Fomenko,  author  and  journalist,'  he  said,  in 
the  same  formal  voice,  '  I  arrest  you  as  an  accomplice  of 
Prince  Euric  Brasso£f  in  his  conspiracy  against  his  Most 
Sacred  and  Most  Orthodox  Majesty.' 

Fomenko,  white  as  a  sheet,  stood  still  and  answered 
nothmg.  His  horror  was  all  for  the  arrest  and  betrayal 
of  Euric  BrasBoft 

The  soldiers  gripped  their  arms.  Two  stood  in  front 
of  each,  two  behind,  two  beside  them.  Nikita  turned 
triumphant  to  the  gentlemanly  lodger  next  door. 

*  I  think.  Major  and  Count,'  he  said,  smiling,  •  we  may 
feally  congratulate  ourselves  upon  having  effected  this 
important  and  difficult  arrest  without  trouble  or  blood- 
shed.' 

The  Count  bowed  and  nodded.  He  was  all  polite 
acquiescence. 

*  And  especially  on  having  secured  this  incriminating 
document,'  he  said,  turning  it  over. 

Eurio  Brassoff  glanced  round  in  a  ferment  of  horror, 
iOK  Owen's  sakti    The  Count  held  the  envelope  in  his 


THE  VAL1,EY  OP  THE  SHADOV 


»99 


hand,  with  every  appearance  of  care,  and  gazed  at  the 
seal  abstractedly.  What  was  he  going  to  do  with  it^ 
That  was  the  question.  Oh,  if  only  they  had  arrived 
one  moment  later,  the  Chief  thought  with  a  thrill  of 
remorse,  he  could  have  tiung  it  in  the  fire  that  burned 
brightly  in  the  grate  I  But  they  timed  their  arrival  welL 
Too  well,  too  cleverly.  They  must  have  been  listening 
and  waiting  for  the  critical  moment  to  arrive,  with  ear 
at  the  crack  of  the  door  and  eye  at  the  keyhole.  On  the 
turning-point  they  entered.  The  envelope  was  in  their 
hands.  All,  all  was  lost !  Alexis  Selistoff  would  now 
learn  Owen  Cazalet's  secret. 

'  Yes,  unopened,*  Nikita  echoed,  closing  his  lips  firm 
like  a  rat-trap.  *  That's  important,  very.  His  Eicei- 
lency's  orders  are  that  we're  to  keep  it  intact  till  he 
arrives  in  Moscow.  He  desires  nobody  to  know  its 
contents  but  himself.  This  is  a  State  affair.  I  have  his 
Excellency's  own  hand  for  it.  Excuse  me,  Count,  you 
must  give  me  the  letter.* 

The  military  man  handed  it  over  with  a  salute.  Nikita 
wrapped  it  carefully  in  the  fo'ds  of  his  capacious  pocket- 
book,  and  placed  it  with  deference  in  bis  breast-pocket. 
The  Count  stepped  aside,  and  gave  the  word  to  the 
loldiers : 

'  Forward !' 

Prompt  on  the  command  they  marched  the  prisononi 
down  the  stairs  and  to  the  door  of  the  house,  one  after 
the  other,  in  silence. 

Below,  two  large  sleighs  were  in  waiting — not  common 
droschkys,  but  handsome  private  conveyances  of  a  family 
character.  A  soldier  driver  sat  on  the  box  of  each.  In 
the  first — for  due  precedence  must  always  be  observed, 
even  where  criminals  are  concerned — the  Count  took  his 
place,  with  Ruric  Brassoff  by  his  side ;  the  second  con- 
tained Nikita  and  Michael  Fomenko.  Two  soldiers  in 
plain  clothes  sat  upright  behind  in  either  sleigh,  with 
revolvers  in  their  hands. 

<  Shoot  if  he  tries  to  move,'  the  Count  said  calmly ; 
und  the  soldiers  saluted. 

They  drove  rapidly  along  the  streets,  the  bells  tinkUng 
merrily  on  the  crisp  air  as  they  went.     In  Farii  or 


:u 


300 


UNDER  SEALBD  ORDERS 


London,  the  cortege  would  have  excited  no  little  atten- 
tion. But  in  Moscow,  better  drilled,  people  iocked  the 
other  way ;  they  knew  it  was  a  case  of  political  prisoners, 
and  even  to  display  too  ardent  a  curiosity  might  prove  a 
bad  thing  for  the  sympathetic  bystander. 

The  sleighs  drew  up  at  last  before  the  Prefecture  of 
Urban  Police.  The  prisoners  were  tumbled  out  and 
hurried  into  a  room  where  a  Commissary  sat  awaiting 
thenu  In  a  fixed  official  voice,  Nikita  gave  their  names 
and  the  charges  against  them  with  no  more  emotion  in 
his  tones  than  if  he  were  accusing  two  well-known 
offenders  of  petty  larceny. 

*  Prince  Eurio  Brassof^  formerly  Aulio  Councillor  and 
Chamberlain  to  her  Imperial  Majesty  the  Empress, 
charged  with  participating  in  a  murderous  plot  against 
the  life  of  the  Most  Sacred  and  Most  Ortnodox  Czar ; 
and  Michael  Fomenko,  author  and  journalist,  charged 
with  being  an  accomplice  to  said  Ruric  Brassoflf.' 

The  Commissary  noted  down  the  wording  of  the 
charges  with  official  exactness.  Even  in  Bussia,  red 
tape  keeps  up  some  show  of  legality. 

*  Remitted  to  the  Central  Prison  till  to-morrow  morn- 
ing,' the  Commissary  said  dryly.  Then  in  a  different 
▼oice,  turning  to  Nikita,  he  added,  '  You  expect  General 
Selistoff  by  the  night  train,  doubtless  ?' 

*  Yes,  he  arrives  to-morrow  morning,'  Nikita  answered 
with  a  pleasant  nod.  '  He  will  examine  the  prisoners  in 
person.  Their  information  may  be  important.  Madame 
Mireff  is  here  already.  She  will  be  confronted  with  the 
conspirators  when  the  General  arrives.  We  expect  she 
can  give  evidence  of  some  value  against  them.* 

'  For  the  rest,'  the  Count  said,  nonchalantly  twirling 
his  pointed  moustache,  '  what  we  overheard  ourselves  in 
Fomenko's  room  is  quite  enough  to  condemn  them.  This 
gentleman  admitted  he  was  Prince  Brassoff.  And  M. 
Nikita  has  secured  the  important  document  which  the 
General  desired  should  be  brought  to  him  unopened.' 

The  Commissary  nodded. 

<  To  the  Central  Prison,'  he  Baid  once  more,  after  a 
few  more  formalities  had  been  gone  through  in  a  par- 
fonotory  fashion. 


p 


THB  VALLEY  OP  THB  SHADOW 


301 


The  soldiers  marched  them  out  again,  and  pnt  them 
back  in  the  sleighs,  and  they  drove  away,  still  more 
rapidly,  towards  their  place  of  detention. 

That  night  Euric  Braseoff  passed  in  a  solitary  cell, 
fitted  up  with  some  petty  concessions  to  his  princely 
rank,  but  otherwise  bare  and  cold  and  wretched  and 
uncomfortable.  And  all  night  long  he  thought  of  Owen 
Cazalet  and  lone  Dracopoli — and  of  what  could  have 
brought  Olga  Mireff  at  this  juncture  to  Moscow. 

If  only  he  could  have  seen  her  for  one  minute  alone  ! 
If  only  he  could  have  said  to  her,  '  Nikita  has  an  enve- 
lope. Kill  him  I  Secure  it  1  Destroy  itl'  But  there 
he  lay  helpless,  cooped  up  in  that  narrow  prison  cell ; 
and  when  he  saw  Olga  to-morrow  morning,  perhaps  it 
would  be  too  late ;  perhaps  he  would  be  unable  to  com- 
municate with  her  at  all.  Perhaps  he  might  find  her  a 
traitor  to  Bussia. 

His  own  life  he  gave  up — he  owed  it  to  Eussia.  And 
for  Eussia  he  despaired.  But  one  thing  still  troubled 
hini,  He  wished  he  could  only  have  saved  Owen  from 
the  aword  of  Damocles  that  must  hang  for  ever  hence- 
forth over  his  head  and  Tone's, 

Olga  Mireff  in  Moscow  1  What  could  have  brought  her 
there  ?  he  wondered.  A  horrible  doubt  rose  floating  for 
a  moment  in  his  mind  like  a  hateful  picture.  Had  Olga 
turned  against  him?  No,  no ;  he  flung  the  doubt  from  him 
like  an  evil  dream.  Yet  stay  I  what  was  this  ?  He  was 
a  traitor  himself.  Whom  could  Eussia  trust  now,  if 
Euric  Brassoff  betrayed  her  ? 

And  then,  in  a  sudden  flash  of  insight,  Fomenko'a 
casual  words  came  back  to  him  with  a  new  and  unsus- 
pected meaning.  That  '  lodger  downstairs,  a  woman  with 
great  staring  eyes,  a  milUnar  or  something,'  whom  he  took 
to  be  a  spy — who  on  earth  could  it  be  but  Olga  Mireff? 

Was  she  there  to  betray  them  or  to  warn  them  ?  That 
was  the  great  problem.  Would  she  turn  up  to  befrienci 
him  to-morrow  morning  at  that  supreme  moment,  or  to 
confront  and  denounce  him  as  a  convicted  conspirator  ? 

He  had  played  for  a  terrible  stake,  and  lost.  If  Olga 
forsook  him,  all  was  finished  indeed,  and  Owen  woUd  b4 
at  Alexis  Selistofs  meroy, 


y» 


UNDER  SEAI<ED  OBDERS 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

AT  THE   THIBD   SECTION. 

Eablt  next  morning  a  gaoler  unlocked  the  dooi 
brusquely. 

'  Prince  Eurio  Brassoff,'  he  said  in  a  shrill  voice  of 
command,  strangely  mingled  with  conventional  respect 
for  his  prisoner's  high  rank,  '  get  up  and  dress  at  once. 
General  Alexis  Selistoff  requires  your  presence  imme- 
diately at  the  Kremlin.' 

Starting  from  his  prison  bed,  Ruric  Brassoff  rose  and 
dressed,  in  a  maze  of  conflicting  feelings.  They  brought 
him  some  breakfast.  He  sat  down  at  the  plain  deal 
table  and  ate  it  mechanically.  Then  he  went  out  to  the 
prison  gate,  where  a  warder,  without  a  word,  put  his 
hands  in  irons.  Ruric  Brassoff  accepted  that  indignity 
in  dignified  silence.  A  sleigh  was  in  waiting  there — only 
one,  this  morning.  Fomenko  wasn't  wanted.  The  minor 
prisoner's  rest  had  not  been  disturbed  so  early. 

It  was  a  clear  keen  morning  of  the  true  Russian  type. 
Fresh  snow  had  fallen  during  the  night  and  lay  white  in 
the  streets,  and  the  horses  danced  merrily  over  it  with 
the  light  weight  behind  them.  At  the  door  of  the  branch 
office  of  the  Third  Section  they  halted. 

*  Descend,  Prince,'  Nikita  said  shortly.  And  Rnrio 
Brassoff  descended. 

Two  soldiers  took  h's  arms  on  either  side,  and  marched 
him  up  the  stairs,  unresisting  and  acquiescent.  Ruric 
Brassoff  marched  on,  as  in  a  horrible  dream.  At  the 
door  of  an  office  on  the  first-floor  they  knocked  twice. 
'Come  in,'  said  a  sharp  military  voice  from  within.  Across 
the  gulf  of  twenty  years  Ruric  Brassoff  recognised  it  as 
clearly  as  if  he  had  heard  it  yesterday.  It  was  Alexis 
Selistoff  B. 

The  soldiers  turned  the  handle  and  marched  in  without 
a  word.  It  was  a  comfortably  furnished  office,  with  « 
Turkey  carpet  on  the  floor  and  a  bright  fire  in  the  grate. 
Alexis  Selistoff,  calm  and  stern,  stood  up  with  his  back 
to  tht  ehimney-pieoe.     The  gray  moustache  twitohed 


^ 


^], 


AT  THE  THIRD  SECTION 


S'V-^ 


slightly  with  nervousness  as  he  looked  his  piisonei  in  the 
face — the  fox  he  had  hunted  so  long  and  tracked  to  earth 
at  last — but  no  other  sign  of  emotion  was  visible  any- 
where on  those  austere  features.  He  looked  the  very 
picture  of  an  official  martinet,  as  he  stood  there,  staring 
hard  at  Ruric  Brassoff.  But  he  bowed  a  polite  bow, 
none  the  less,  as  he  muttered  calmly,  *  Good-morningj 
Prince,'  with  soldier-like  politeness. 

And  Ruric  Brassoff  answered  in  the  self-same  tone : 

*  Good-morning,  Excellency.' 

A  lady  was  seated  in  a  chair  at  the  further  end  of  the 
room.  As  Ruric  Brassoff  entered,  she  rose,  and  gazed 
at  him  full  in  the  face.  It  was  Olga  Mireff.  Once,  and 
once  only,  hor  bosom  heaved  tumultuously.  Neither 
said  a  word,  but  their  eyes  met :  that  was  enough.  In  a 
moment,  Ruric  Brassoff  knew  his  follower  was  true  as 
steel.  Her  look  was  a  look  of  the  purest  womanly  devo- 
tion. But  it  smote  him  to  the  heart.  For  the  eyes 
meant  supreme  faith.  It  repented  him  that  he  had  mis- 
trusted her — that  great-hearted,  single-minded,  noble 
patriot  Olga ! 

Alexis  Selistoff  was  the  first  to  break  the  long  dramatic 
pause.     He  scanned  his  man  close. 

'You've  disguised  yourself  wonderfully,' he  said  at  last 
'  They  told  me  you  were  altered.  But  still,  I  should 
have  known  you.  I  should  have  known  you  anywhere. 
There's  Brassoff  in  those  eyes  even  now,  and  in  the  firm 
set  of  that  head.  All  the  rest  has  changed,  Prince :  all 
ths  rest  has  turned  traitor.' 

'  To  the  tyrant,  not  to  Russia,'  Rurio  Brassoff  answered, 
undaunted. 

Alexis  Selistoff  sniffed  the  air. 

*  Give  me  that  envelope,  Nikita,'  he  said,  taming 
S'ound  ;  and  Nikita  gave  it  him. 

The  General,  moving  forward  a  step,  laid  it  down  on 
the  desk  that  occupied  the  chief  place  in  the  room. 

*  Undo  those  irons  1'  he  went  on  coldly,  with  military 
brevity.  And  the  soldiers  undid  them.  '  Leave  us,'  the 
General  murmured,  with  an  authoritative  wave  of  the 
hand,  a£(  Ruric  Brassoff  shook  himself  free  with  a  natural 
gesture  of  satisfaction  at  the  c^moval  of  the  hai»dAnQi. 


f 


SP4 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 


But  Nikita,  standing  aghast,  rentured  ono  moment  to 
remonstrate. 

*  His  hands  are  free,  Excellency,'  he  said  deprecatingly. 
*  Would  it  not  be  well  for  one  other  man,  at  lease,  to 
remain  in  the  room  to  guard  him  ?' 

Alexis  Selistoff  turned  round  with  an  angry  shrug  of 
impatience. 

'  Go  when  you're  told,  fellow  I'  he  said  haughtily,  a 
fierce  light  in  his  eyes.  *  Am  I  commander  here  or  you  ? 
Soldiers  are  mounting  guard,  I  suppose,  at  the  door  as 
usual  ?  And  a  Selistoff  is  match  enough  at  any  time  for 
any  man.' 

At  sight  of  the  frown,  Nikita  and  the  troopers  made 
haste  to  save  themselves.  As  the  door  closed,  Alexis 
Selistoff  fell  back  into  the  armchair  by  the  desk.  01  ga 
Mireff  sank  into  another  chair  a  little  on  one  side,  toying 
nervously  with  i:  flower  or  something  else  in  her  bosom. 
Eurlc  Brassofif  stood  up,  with  his  hands  now  free,  facing 
his  interrogator  full  front  with  a  look  of  fixed  pride  and 
defiance,  and  separated  from  him  by  the  breadth  of  the 
desk  only. 

General  Selistoff  stared  at  the  Nihilist  as  one  stares  at 
•ome  strange  wild  beast. 

•  I  have  a  revolver  in  my  pocket,'  he  said  slowly.  '  It's 
loaded  and  cocked.  Stand  there  where  you  are,  Prince. 
If  you  come  a  step  nearer,  I  draw,  and  fire  upon  you.* 

Madame  Mireff  looked  mutely  at  her  friend,  and  her 
eyes  seemed  to  say,  '  "Wait  your  chance ;  caution — 
caution !' 

The  General,  getting  to  business,  glanced  carelessly  fi'-st 
at  a  bundle  of  documents  found  in  Fomenko's  rooins. 
They  were  of  precisely  the  same  character  as  those  already 
seized  at  Ossiusky's  in  Kieff. 

'  I  thought  so,'  he  said  quietly,  with  half  a  glance  at 
the  little  gong  that  stood  by  his  side,  one  touch  on  which 
would  have  summoned  his  armed  guards.  '  This  envelope, 
which  answers  in  every  respect  to  the  one  we  missed  at 
Eieff,  contains  the  assumed  name  and  present  address  of 
my  misguided  brother's  son,  young  Sergius  Selistoff.  We 
now  know  what  became  of  the  one  in  Ossinsky's  posses- 
•ioB^,  You  revolutionists,  unhappily,  will  stick  at  nothings 


AT  THE  THIRD  bBCTIOM 


JOS 


When  onr  men  went  to  arrest  him,  Ossinsky  lelzed  the 
wiminating  document,  chewed  it  up,  and  swallowed  it.' 
Burio  Brassoff  smiled. 

*  Ossinsky  was  a  brave  man/  he  said  calmly,  fronting 
his  captor  without  a  single  trace  of  fear.  '  In  my  failure 
it  consoles  me,  at  least,  to  know  such  brave  men  and 
women  as  these  have  been  closely  associated  with  me.' 

Alexis  Selistoff  held  the  envelope  gingerly  in  his 
brom?ed  hands. 

*  I  should  have  hunted  Ibis  young  traitor  down  till  I 
found  him  and  punished  him,'  he  said  very  resolutely, 
'  if  I  had  been  compelled  to  do  it.  It  shames  me  to  think 
that  one  of  the  Selistoff  blood  and  lineage  should  be 
mixed  up  in  such  devilry.  But  I  know  it's  useless  now. 
I  see  and  learn  from  the  letters  sent  by  Stefanovio  at 
Paris  to  Ossinsky  at  Kieff  that  Sergius  Selistoff  the 
younger,  unlike  his  father,  has  refused  to  do  the  traitor's 
dirty  work.  For  that  you  have  repudiated  him.  Then, 
you  shall  have  your  reward.  I  take  him  to  the  bosom 
of  the  family  again.  This  envelope  contains  directions 
how  and  where  I  may  find  him.  I  will  find  him,  and 
make  him  my  heir,  and  bring  him  here  to  Bussia  to  help 
me  with  his  knowledge  of  your  vile  associates.  He  shall 
assist  me  in  hunting  them  dowe.  ?our  dupe  shall  turn 
against  you,  Buric  Brassoff,  I  tell  yoo.  I  will  train  him 
to  be  my  bloodhound.' 

Buric  Brassoff  looked  him  back  in  the  face  with  un- 
conquerable pride. 

'  You  are  wrong,  Alexis  Selistoff/  he  said  in  a  veir 
■oft  voice.  'Your  nephew  Sergiue  would  reject  with 
shame  and  horror  your  proffered  money  and  your  hateful 
work.  He  has  refused  to  help  us,  it  is  true ;  but  he  loves 
Bussia  well,  for  all  that,  and  he  loathes  her  tyrants.  If 
^ou  try  to  recall  him,  you  will  get  scorn  for  scorn.  And 
iK  you  publish  his  name,  a  hundred  of  our  comrades  will 
be  up  in  arms  at  the  word ;  they  will  take  his  life  at  once 
for  his  treason  to  our  compact.' 

Alexis  Selistoff  smiled,  and  broke  the  envelope  open. 
He  held  it  before  him  at  a  military  distance  from  his 
lace,  and  read  out  its.  contents  slowly  : 

'Owen  Cazalet.  Tht  Bed  Ck>ttage,  Moor  Hill,  Surrey, 

SO 


v* 


UNDER  SEAI^ED  ORDERS 


England.'    Then  he  murmured  to  himself  once  or  twice, 
•  Owen  Cazalet  I  Owen  Cazalet  I' 

After  that,  he  rose  from  his  desk  and  moved  calmly 
across  the  room,  with  his  soldier-like  tread,  tc  the  large 
bureau  opposite,  filled  with  drawers  and  pigeon-holes. 
Into  one  drawer  he  thrust  the  letter,  and  re-locked  i\ 
securely,  holding  the  key  in  his  hand — a  little  brass  key 
very  daintily  finished.  Next,  he  walked  backagein,  un- 
dismayed, to  the  seat  by  the  desk.  He  sat  down  in  it 
coldly,  and  fixed  his  steely  eye  once  more  on  his  expected 
victim. 

But,  even  while  he  crossed  the  room,  Madame  Mire£f, 
on  her  part,  had  not  been  idle.  Her  chance  had  come  ; 
with  woman's  instinct  she  seized  it.  Noiseless,  but  quick 
as  hghtning,  with  a  strange  gleam  in  her  eye,  she  rose  up 
as  the  General  rose,  and  took  a  step  or  two,  unperceived, 
across  the  floor  towards  Eurio  Brassoft  She  drew  her 
hand  from  her  bosom  and  held  it  out  in  front  of  her. 
Something  bright  passed  hastily  with  a  meaning  glance 
between  them.  Eurio  Brassoff  hid  the  toy  for  a  minute 
in  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat.  Then,  noiseless  again, 
and  quick  as  lightning  once  more,  while  Alexis  SelistofE 
was  still  unlocking  and  relocking  the  drawer,  Olga  Miroff 
slipped  back,  unperceived,  to  her  seat.  She  sat  down 
like  a  mouse.  The  whole  little  manceuvre,  all  unseen  and 
unnoted,  occupied  but  a  second  or  two.  For  stealthi- 
ness  and  silence  it  was  catlike  in  its  dexterity.  Eurio 
Brassoif  felt  proud  of  his  disciple's  cleverness.  On  that 
soft  Turkey  carpet  her  light  footfall  went  unheeded. 
When  Alexis  Selistoff  turned  again,  Madame  was  sitting 
there  as  motionless  and  as  deeply  interested  as  before, 
still  toying  with  some  imaginary  object  in  her  heaving 
bosom.  Alexis  Selistoff  never  suspected  for  a  moment 
she  had  moved.  But  the  pretty  little  revolver  of  th« 
delicate  workmanship  lay  anugly  ensconced  now  in  Eurio 
BrasBofiTg  pookei 


-'. 


I 


; 


RURIC  BRASSOFFS  MARTYRDOM 


JO? 


CHAPTEB  L. 


'f 


\ 


L        I 


RT7RI0  BRASSOFFS  MABTTltDOBf. 

Albxis  Selistoff  reseated  himself  and  looked  up  at  his 
prisoner  once  more. 

'Prince  Ruric  Brassoff/  he  said  slowly,  in  a  very 
official  voice,  '  late  Aulic  Councillor,  and  formerly 
Chamberlain  to  her  Imperial  Majesty  the  Empress,  it 
will  not  be  convenient,  under  all  the  circumstances, 
regard  being  had  to  the  unhappy  misapprehensions  of 
public  feeling  in  Europe,  that  you  should  undergo  a 
regular  open  trial.  We  propose,  therefore,  to  deal  with 
you  instead  by  administrative  order.  The  Czar's  pre- 
rogative as  fountain  of  justice  will  not  in  this  case  be 
delegated  to  judges.  It  will  be  exerted  directly.  When 
a  man  of  your  rank  offends  against  the  law,  his  punish- 
ment should  be  exemplary.  You  belong  to  the  highest 
Busflian  aristocracy,  the  ancestral  guardians  of  the 
ancient  monarchical  principles  of  our  country.  Your  very 
name  marks  you  at  once  as  one  of  those  who  descend  in 
hereditary  line  from  the  time-honoured  royal  house  of 
Burio.  You  were  educated  among  your  peers  in  the 
College  of  the  Pages ;  you  were  honoured  by  employment 
in  the  service  of  the  Court ;  you  were  decorated  with 
the  orders  of  the  Imperial  hous<^hold.  Every  mark  of 
distinguished  favour  was  showered  upon  your  head  by 
our  august  sovereign.  Yet,  out  of  pure  perversity,  you 
chose  to  become  the  leader  of  a  vile  conspiracy;  you 
misled  the  people  whom  it  was  your  hereditary  privilege 
and  duty  to  guide  and  direct  aright.  For  such  crimes  I 
could  wish  I  might  have  offered  you  a  fitting  requital ; 
might  have  sent  you  to  the  mines  for  life,  where  you 
would  expiate  your  wrong-doing  by  a  long,  a  laborious, 
and  a  squalid  punishment.  But  you  are  too  dangerous 
a  person  for  us  to  risk  the  bare  chance  of  your  untimely 
escape.  Stark  dead  is  safest.  I  hold  in  my  hand  hero 
a  special  rescript  of  his  Most  Sacred  and  Most  Orthodox 
Majesty,  condemning  you  to  private  military  exeoutioa 
in  a  closed  fortress.' 


3o8 


UNPER  SEALED  ORDERS 


Ruric  Brassoff  bowed  his  head  slightly.  His  con- 
science was  satisfied. 

'  That  arbitrary  sentence,*  he  answered,  in  a  voice 
unbroken  by  emotion,  '  absolves  me  at  once  from  all 
moral  obligations  as  regards  the  Czar  himself  >:  his 
appointed  ministers.  It  is  an  autocratic  act — the  mere 
despotic  will  of  one  man  as  against  another.  It  is  not 
the  finding  of  a  free  court  of  justice,  before  which  I  have 
been  legally  tried  and  condemned  ;  it  is  not  the  unanimouf! 
voice  of  the  representatives  of  my  country.  It  is  a  private 
act — man  against  man,  open  enemy  -against  open  enemy.' 
He  raised  his  voice  solemnly.  '  Alexis  Selistoff,  you  have 
condemned  me,'  ne  said.  *  Alexis  Selistoff  in  my  turn, 
I  condemn  you.' 

The  words  rang  with  a  thrill  through  that  high-roofed 
hall.  Olga  Mireff  leaned  forward  with  glowing  eyes  that 
seemed  to  burn  like  a  tiger's  as  she  watched  and  waited. 
Alexis  Sehstoff  smiled  coldly.  Ruric  Brassoff  himself 
stood  erect  and  inflexible,  surveying  his  opponent  from 
some  paces  off  with  indomitable  pride  and  unoonquered 
independence. 

'  You  may  kill  me,'  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  in  a 
rapt  tone  like  a  martyr's.  '  The  revolutionary  cause,  you 
must  remember,  does  not  depend  upon  individuals.  A 
nation  is  at  its  back ;  it  is  the  outcome  and  necessary 
result  of  an  organic  movement.  Cut  down  one  head  of 
us,  and  twenty  will  spring  in  its  place.  Revolutionists 
are  created,  not  by  us,  but  by  you ;  by  your  despotic 
action,  by  the  general  discontent  it  begets  in  the  whole 
Russian  people,  by  the  natural,  irresistible,  and  organic 
tendency  of  all  Russia  itself  towards  a  new  and  more 
human  social  system.  Of  this  younger  Russia  I  am  the 
embodiment  and  mouthpiece,  as  you  of  the  eldrr.  I 
Bpeak  in  the  name  of  the  people,  as  you  of  the  Czar. 
The  majesty  of  the  many  is  greater  and  more  authoritative 
than  the  majesty  of  the  one.  If  you  pronounce  sentence 
on  me  as  the  spokesman  of  the  court,  J.  pronounce 
sentence  on  you  as  the  spokesman  of  the  nation.  .  .  . 
And  that  sentence  is,  Alexis  Selistoll' — something  llashvid 
quick  in  his  right  hand — *  tiiat  you  be  shot  dead  here 
and  now.' 


\  I 


RURIC  BRASSOPFS  MARTYRDOM 


309 


He  levelled  the  little  revolver  point-blank  at  his  heart. 
Flash,  bang,  and  silence.  A  report,  a  short  blaze. 
Alexis  Selistoff  fell  back,  with  a  tiny  brass  key  still 
grasped  in  his  fingers,  on  the  chair  he  sat  in. 

To  Olga  Mirefif,  looking  on,  what  happened  next,  in  a 
few  seconds,  was  as  a  terrible  dream  for  its  vividness. 
its  rapidity,  its  inexplicable  suddenness.  Before  she 
had  time  to  realize  that  Alexis  Selistoif  was  really  shot, 
blood  oozing  and  gurgling  in  little  sobs  and  jets  from  a 
wound  in  his  throat,  Ruric  Brassoff,  that  great,  that 
glorious,  that  beautiful  Euric  Brassoff,  had  snatched  the 
little  key  from  the  dying  man's  hand,  and  in  a  rapid, 
tremulous  voice  had  cried  aloud  to  her,  *  Quick,  Olga ! 
Quick,  take  it  I  Before  they  come  and  catch  me — I 
daren't  do  it  myself — there's  no  time — the  drawer  1  the 
drawer  I  the  third  on  the  left.  Get  the  paper  out  I 
Owen's  name  and  address  I    Bum  it  I     Bum  it  1' 

He  rushed  to  the  further  side  of  the  room  as  he  spoke, 
still  grasping  the  revolver.  Olga  Mireff,  all  in  a  maze, 
but  on  fire  with  emotion,  rushed  hastily  to  the  bureaii, 
■eized  the  letter,  and  burned  it.  Eurio  Brassoff  mean- 
while stood  with  his  back  to  the  door,  which  he  had 
hastily  locked  and  bolted  from  within.  He  was  only 
just  in  time.  The  guards,  roused  by  the  shot,  were 
pushing  hard  by  this  time  from  the  other  side.  As  the 
paper  burned  away,  and  crumbled  to  ashes,  Ruric  Brass- 
off rushed  back  in  a  tremor  to  the  fireplace  again,  and 
let  them  burst  in  the  door. 

*  Olga,'  he  cried,  wringing  her  hand,  '  you've  been 
faithful  to  the  end!  One  more  thing  before  you  die. 
Write  to  Owen  Cazalet,  "  All  safe.  Every  trace  de- 
stroyed." Then  you  can  do  as  you  like.  If  you  choose, 
you  can  follow  me.' 

Ab  well  as  Olga  could  guess,  the  soldiers  by  this  time 
Lad  forced  the  door  open  and  were  rushing  into  the 
room.  For  a  second,  the  sight  of  General  Selistoff, 
sitting  there  in  his  chair  with  one  hand  pressed  to  the 
wound,  whence  blood  gurgled  with  hideous  noises,  struck 
them  dumb  with  inaction.  Then,  even  as  they  gazed, 
Euric  Brassoff  raised  the  revolver  once  more,  and  pointed 
a  with   »  firm  hand  against  his   own  white  templa 


f 


5IO 


UNDER  SBALBD  ORDBRt 


Before  the  foremost  soldier  could  rush  forward  and 
prevent  him,  he  had  pulled  the  trigger  and  let  the 
chamber  go  off.  There  was  a  sob,  a  deep  hush.  He  fell 
forward  heavily.  The  bullet  had  done  its  work  with 
instantaneous  effect.  Blood  was  spattered  on  the  floor. 
Blood  was  spurting  from  his  f orehea  i.  Some  few  drops 
fell  on  Olga  Mireff's  dress  and  handkerchief.  She  gazed 
at  them  reverently.    They  were  the  blood  of  a  martyr. 

But  Ruric  Brassoff  lay  there,  not  yet  quite  dead,  very 
peaceful  in  soul,  through  a  great  haze  of  unconsciousness, 
For  Owen  was  saved,  the  paper  was  burned,  Russia  was 
avenged,  and  the  tyranny  had  come  one  step  nearer  Hs 
final  destruction. 

Olga  Mireff  flung  herself  down  on  the  still  breathing 
body.  With  a  woman,  to  admire  a  man  is  also  to  love 
him.  And  Ruric  Brassoff  had  seemed  even  greater  to 
her  in  those  last  few  minutes  than  ever  before  in  his  life. 
She  seized  the  little  revolver,  before  the  soldiers'  faces, 
and  slipped  it  unobtrusively  into  her  dress-pocket.  As 
she  lay  there,  sobbing  and  unnerved,  by  the  martyr's 
side,  her  first  impulse  was  to  shoot  herself  on  Rurio 
Brassoff's  dead  body.  But  a  solemn  sense  of  duty  pre- 
vented her  from  yielding  as  yet  to  that  womanly  impulse. 
To  obey  is  better  than  burnt-offering  :  and  Rurio  Brassoff 
had  said  with  his  dying  breath,  '  Write  to  Owen  Cazalet.' 
She  must  live  on,  now,  were  it  only  to  fulfil  that  sacred 
bequest.  What  it  all  meant,  she  knew  not ;  but  do  it 
ehe  must ;  she  would  live  to  write  to  Owen  Cazalet. 

She  repeated  Ruric  Brassoff's  words  over  to  herself, 
time  after  time,  to  remember  them.  But,  indeed,  she 
had  no  need.  Every  feature  of  that  scene,  every  tone  of 
that  voice,  was  burned  in  as  by  a  searing  iron  into  the 
very  fabric  of  her  brain — *  All  safe  I  ail  safe  1  every  trace 
destroyed.'  It  rang  in  her  ears  like  the  tune  of  a  chime 
of  bells.  She  heard  it  echoing  through  her  head.  It 
was  a  part  of  her  being. 

The  soldiers  removed  Ler,  wondering,  and  sat  her 
down  in  a  chair.  Then  they  lifted  Ruric  Brassoff's  body 
with  unreverent  hands,  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  Alexis 
Selistoff's  they  carried  out,  to  do  it  military  honour.  3ul 
Olga  sat  there  still,  and  no  man  molested  her. 


Am)  APTSR?  ^ 

And  no  man,  as  yet,  made  any  inqniries  for  tht 
revolver.  After  awhile,  as  in  a  dream,  Olga  Mireff  rose, 
and  walked  Btaggering  down  the  stairs.  An  officer  raised 
his  hat  and  spoke  to  her  as  she  went  out.  She  tiDld  him, 
in  brief,  how  it  had  all  happened,  omitting  only  the  detail 
of  her  handing  the  revolver  to  Burio  Brassofil  The  officer 
listened  in  silence. 

'  Where  is  madams  stopping  ?'  he  asked,  drawing  out 
a  notebook  and  pencil. 

And  Olga  Mireli  answered  in  a  hard  voice,  as  of  one 
whose  life  is  wholly  cut  from  under  her : 

*  At  24,  Slav  Bazar  Street.  I  was  watching  there 
and  waiting — by  General  Selistoffs  orders — for  Burio 
Brassoff.' 

And  she  had  missed  him,  after  all,  when  he  oumI 
She  never  was  able  to  warn  him  t 


CHAPTEE  LL 

AND  AVTBB? 

From  the  office,  Madame  Mireff  stepped  forth  blindly  intfr 
the  streets  of  Moscow.  The  news  of  the  murder  had 
spread  like  wildfire.  In  that  inflammable  atmosphere, 
rumour  flashes  electric.  Bound  the  Kremlin  aU  was 
confusion  and  strange  military  display.  The  square 
buzzed  with  Cossacks.  But  no  man  challenged  her. 
The  agent  of  the  Czar,  the  unrecognised  diplomatic  re- 
presentative of  the  Bussian  Court,  the  trusted  friend  and 
confidante  of  General  Alexis  Selistoff,  she  walked  out 
unquestioned,  erect,  and  trembling,  through  the  midst  of 
that  indescribable  hubbub  and  turmoil.  Superior  ofliceni 
murmured  to  one  another  as  she  passed,  'Madame 
Mire£f  1'  and  raised  their  caps  in  homage.  Soldiers  slunk 
on  one  side  and  let  the  great  lady  go  by  with  a  respectful 
salute.  She  was  still  free,  thank  Heaven  I  She  might 
execute  her  mission  yet  from  dead  Burio  Brassoff  1 

Dead  Buric  Brassoff!  Buric  Brassoff  dead  I  She 
murmured  it  over  to  herself  in  a  dreamy,  dazed  tone. 
It  leemed  impossible,  incradible ;  though  she  carried  la 


tTi 


UNDER  SEAI^ED  ORDERS 


her  own  bosom  the  pistol  with  which  her  martyr  had 
tal':en  his  great  life,  she  could  hardly  believe  it  herself 
even  now.  He  seemed  too  grand  for  death.  And  Eussia 
without  him  ? 

The  deep  fresh-fallen  snow  was  getting  trampled  down 
by  this  time  under  the  desecrating  feet  of  men  and  horses. 
There  was  bustle  in  the  streets.  People  came  and  went 
hurriedly.  Madame  Mireff  called  a  sleigh,  one  of  the 
quick  little  cabs  that  ply  for  hire  on  runners,  and,  scarcely 
knowing  what  she  did,  bade  the  man  drive — faster,  faster, 
to  the  Frenchified  Hotel  de  I'lmperatrice,  in  the  modern 
quarter,  where  her  maid  was  stopping.  Her  own  boxes 
were  there,  and  her  private  belongings ;  for  she  had 
occupied  the  room  in  the  Eue  du  Bazar  Slav  as  a  place 
to  look  out  for  Ruric  Brassoff  only.  Of  course,  she 
couldn't  return  to  that  hateful  house  in  such  a  crisis  as 
this.  The  police  were  in  possession  of  Fomenko's  rooms, 
and  would  be  busily  engaged  by  now  in  ransacking  every- 
thing. 

Tinkle-tinkle  went  the  bells  in  the  keen  crisp  air,  aa 
the  sleigh  hurried  along — faster,  faster,  faster — over  the 
smooth  virgin  snow  toward  the  modern  quarter.  But 
Madame  MirefPs  thoughts  were  very  different  from  their 
tone.  She  was  reflecting  how  she  came  to  miss  Eurio 
Brassoff. 

It  was  a  horrible  mischance,  yet  unavoidable,  wholly. 
l!^or  three  weeks  she  had  occupied  a  room  on  the  ground- 
floor  of  the  house  where  Fomenko  lodged,  nominally  to 
act  as  a  spy  for  the  Government  on  Euric  Brassoff's 
arrival ;  really,  to  warn  her  Chief  when  he  came  against 
impending  danger.  Of  Fomenko  himself  she  knew 
nothing — not  even  his  name.  She  had  only  been  told  by 
Alexis  Selistoff  to  watch  that  house,  as  Eurio  Brassoff 
was  likely  to  come  there  on  his  arrival  in  Moscow  ;  and 
^n  her  anxiety  to  save  the  great  leader's  life,  she  didn't 
care  to  risk  discovery  of  her  complicity  in  the  plot  by 
making  too  minute  inquiries  about  the  possible  subordinate 
he  might  be  expected  to  visit.  But  on  the  very  morning 
of  Eurio  BraFsofiTs  arrest  she  had  left  her  front  room  for 
a  few  Liiinutes  only  when  ho  presented  himself  at  the 
door;  and  sho  knew  nothing  of  his  arrest  till,  hall  an 


: 


U 


I 


I' 


h 


V 


AND  AFTER  ? 


|IJ 


hour  later;  as  she  gazed  ont  of  the  window,  still  on  the 
look-out  for  her  Chief,  she  saw  the  man  himself  hustled 
into  a  sleigh  between  two  brutal  soldiers,  a  prisoner  for 
his  life,  with  his  arms  tied  behind  him.  Then  she  hurried 
away  breathless  to  the  Kremlin,  all  on  fire,  to  await 
Alexis  Selisto^s  arrival  from  St.  Petersburg,  and  to  ask 
leave  to  be  present  at  his  interview  with  the  arch-con- 
epirator. 

These  things  Olga  Mire£f  turned  over  with  bewilder- 
ment in  her  own  whirling  brain  as  the  sleigh  hurried  her 
on  over  the  yielding  snow  through  the  streets  of  Moscow. 

At  her  hotel  it  drew  up  short.  The  dvomik  came  out 
and  received  her  courteously.  A  very  great  lady,  Olga 
Mireff,  in  Russia;  a  close  friend  of  the  Czar's  and  of 
Alexis  Selistoff's.  Had  she  heard  the  news  of  the 
General's  death?  Olga  Mireff  started.  Why,  it  was 
there  before  her  I  Yes,  yes — impatiently — she  had  heard 
it,  of  course ;  was  there  herself  at  the  time ;  would  be  a 
witness  at  the  inquiry ;  had  seen  and  recognised  Prince 
Buric  Brassoff.  The  dvomik  bowed  low,  but  tamed  pale 
at  the  same  time. 

'  Is  Prince  Brassoff  dead,  too,  then  ?'  he  asked,  with 
a  tremor  in  his  voice. 

In  a  second,  with  feminine  instinct,  Olga  Mire£f  turned 
on  him.  She  had  caught  at  the  profound  undercurrent 
of  iiidden  sympathy  and  interest  in  the  man's  words  and 
lone. 

'  Why,  are  you  of  ours  ?'  she  asked  low,  in  »  ferment 
of  surprise,  giving  a  Nihilist  password. 

The  man  started  and  stared. 

'  And  you  ?*  he  asked,  half  terrified. 

Olga  Mireff  pointed  with  pride  to  the  spots  of  red  blood 
on  her  skirt  and  bodice. 

'Buric  Brassoff's,'  she  said  hurriedly.  'I  gave  him 
the  pistol  to  shoot  with.  It's  here,  in  my  bosom.  I  was 
one  with  the  martyr.  See  here,  I  can  trust  you.  I  need 
your  aid.  It  was  I  who  helped  him  to  kill  the  creature 
Belistoff.  He  gave  me  a  dying  commission  to  carry  out. 
When  it's  done,  with  that  same  pistol,  I,  too,  shall  free 
myself  from  this  hateful  despotism.  Come  to  my  room, 
dvomik,  in  ten  minutes  from  now.    I  shall  want  you  to 


I 


>i4  UNDER  SBALBD  ORDERS 

post  A  letter  for  me  at  once — what  an  honoui  for  yon,  my 
ii'iendl — a  letter  enjoined  upon  me  by  Buric  Brassoff.' 

The  dvomik  bowed  once  more,  this  time  with  profound 
reverenca     His  lips  were  ashy. 

*  If  you  are  a  friend  of  Buric  BrassofTs,'  he  said,  kiss- 
ing the  hem  of  her  robe,  as  Bussians  kiss  the  holy  relics 
of  saints  and  martyrs,  *  you  can  command  my  services 
I  noTer  knew  till  now  you  were  one  of  the  circle 

Olga  Mireff  looked  hard  at  him. 

*  This  is  a  mask,'  she  said  in  a  very  low  voice,  touching 
her  oheek  as  she  spoke — '  this  that  I  wear  before  the 
outer  world.  The  other  that  I  showed  you  just  now  is 
my  face.  And  my  face  is  sacred.  Burio  Brassoff  has 
kissed  it.' 

She  went  up  to  her  own  room,  and  sat  down  hurriedly 
to  write.  It  was  in  terrible  suspense,  for  at  any  moment 
now  the  police  might  break  in  to  interrogate  her.  But  she 
must  send  the  letter  Buric  Brassoff  had  enjoined.  Not 
direct,  though,  not  direct ;  that  would  be  far  too  dangerous. 
In  a  very  few  words  she  wroie  to  her  cousin  Tania  al 
Gharlottenburg,  near  Berlin,  asking  her  as  a  last  favour 
to  herself  and  Buric  Brassoff  to  forward  a  letter,  enclosed, 
to  Owen  Gazalet,  The  Bed  Cottage,  Moor  Hill,  Surrey, 
England.  Then  the  letter  itself  she  wrote,  too ;  it  was 
short  and  to  the  point : 

<Dbab  Owen, 

*1  write  in  haste  and  fear  from  Ifosoow.  Mr. 
Hayward  is  dead ;  you  will  doubtless  have  guessed  from 
the  papers  before  this  reaches  you  that  he  and  Burie 
Brassoff  are  one  and  the  same  person.  No  one  else  on 
oarth  now  knows  that  truth.  Let  no  one  else  know  it. 
Our  dear  rnd  honoured  friend  was  arrested  in  Moscow 
last  night,  and  brought  this  morning  before  your  uncle, 
Alexis  Selistoff  I  was  present  at  the  interview  in  the 
rooms  of  the  Third  Section.  I  supplied  him  with  the 
revolver  to  do  the  deed.  You  will  know  already  he  shot 
General  Selibtoff  dead,  and  then,  satisfied  with  that  act 
of  justice  on  a  cruel  criminal,  blew  his  own  brains  out. 
His  sacred  blood  was  scattered  upon  m^  dress.  I  would 
have  killed  myself  then  and  t7'.ere  with  the  self-same 


1 

f 


AND  AFTElt? 


315 


pistol,  bnt  that  he  commissioned  me  to  write  these  last 
few  lines  to  you.  His  own  words  were  these :  "  Tell 
Owen,  all  safe ;  every  trace  destroyed."  His  dying 
thoughts  were  for  you.  What  it  meant  exactly  it  is  nob 
for  me  to  inquire ;  Euric  Brassoflf  so  willed  it.  But  after 
he  shot  Alexis  Selistoff,  and  before  he  put  the  pistol  to 
his  own  martyred  head,  while  the  soldiers  were  forcing 
their  way  into  the  room  in  disorder,  he  caused  me  to  bum 
a  slip  of  paper  with  your  English  name  and  address, 
which  Alexis  Selistoff  had  recovered  yesterday  from  a 
man  named  Fomenko,  arrested  at  the  same  time  with  our 
revered  Buric  Brassoff.  No  one  else  had  seen  it.  I 
send  this  out  Uvow  by  a  trusty  messenger.  When  he 
returns,  I  shall  follow  our  beloved  leader.  Life  without 
him  has  no  charrn  for  me  now.  For  I  loved  him,  Owen 
— I  loved  hini, 

*  Yours  and  Bussia's, 

'Oloa  Mibbff.' 


She  had  scarcely  finished  this  hasty  note,  when  the 
d/vormk  knocked  at  the  dooi.  His  face  was  white,  but 
his  mien  was  resolute. 

'  Is  the  letter  ready  ?'  he  asked,  in  a  mysterious  tone. 

'Yes,  ready,  friend,  quite  ready,'  Madame  Mireff 
answered.    '  Take  it  out  and  post  it.' 

And  at  the  same  time  she  offered  him  twenty  roubles. 

The  dvornik  shook  his  head  with  a  pained  expression. 

'  No,  no,  'tis  for  Eussia  and  the  Cause,'  he  said 
quickly.  *  I  can  accept  nothing  for  that.  .  .  .  But 
there's  one  thing  I  should  like,  if  I  dared  to  ask  it.' 

'  What  is  it  ?'  Olga  Mireff  asked,  wondering. 

'A  spot  of  Buric  Brassoff's  sacred  blood,'  the  man 
answered  earnestly. 

Tears  stood  in  Olga  Mireff's  eyes.  She  seized  a  pair 
of  scissors  on  the  table  close  by.  The  handsome  morning 
robe  she  wore  was  spattered  all  over  with  little  crimson 
blood-spots.  She  cut  one  circular  patch  out  from  the 
bodice,  just  above  her  own  heart,  with  a  round  spot  in 
its  midst,  and  handed  it  to  the  man.  He  kissed  it 
reverently.  Then  he  folded  it  in  a  purse,  and  placed  it 
next  his  heart. 


sn 


ITNDBR  SHALBD  ORDERS 


Olga  gazed  at  him  with  a  strange  feeling  of  frateziiM 
regard.  In  the  near  presence  of  death  all  men  are 
brothers,  and  at  moments  of  supreme  passion  it  is 
woman's  native  instinct  to  let  her  womanly  emotions 
have  free  play  without  restraint  or  regard  of  persons. 
He  was  a  common,  stalwart,  bearded  Bussian  peasant ; 
she  was  a  high-bom  lady,  deUcately  bred,  daintily  nur- 
tured. He  was  tanned  by  the  sun  and  scarred  by  the 
frosts  of  winter ;  she  was  white  as  the  newly-fallen  snow 
on  the  fields  by  the  Oka.  But  she  gazed  at  him  for  a 
moment  as  he  bent,  all  reverence,  over  that  strange  relic 
of  the  martyr  they  both  loved  and  honoured.  Then  she 
leant  forward,  unabashed. 

'  Ruric  Brassoff  kissed  these  lips,'  she  said  in  a  very 
clear  voice.  *  I  pass  you  on  the  kiss,  in  token  of  brother- 
hood.' 

The  dvomik  accepted  it  with  a  certain  stately  acqui- 
6Boence. 

*  For  Bussia,'  he  said  simply. 

And  Olga  MirefF  answered  in  the  same  tone: 

•For  Bussia.' 

Ten  minutes  later  he  came  back,  pleased,  proud,  and 
smiling.  Olga  sat  in  a  chair,  hstlessly  toying  with  the 
beautiful,  deadly  revolver. 

'  I  have  posted  it,'  the  man  said. 

*  Unobserved  ?' 

*  Yes,  unobserved,  dear  sister.* 

'  That's  well,'  Olga  Mireff  answered,  without  a  tremor 
in  her  voice.  *  Now  go,  that  I  may  kill  myself  in  quiet 
as  he  did.' 

The  man  nodded  his  assent,  and  glided  noiselessly 
from  the  room.  There  was  a  short  interval  of  silence  as 
he  descended  the  stairs,  Then  a  shot  above  was  heard 
clearly  ringing  through  the  dvornik^s  lodge. 

This  time  the  prudent  porter  took  two  men  up  with 
him  to  search  the  apartment.  On  the  rug  by  the  fire- 
place Olga  Mireff  lay  dying,  with  her  mouth  full  of 
blood.  Buric  Brassotf's  fresh  bloodstains  were  pressed 
to  he;  lips  by  Her  left  hand ;  her  right  grasped  a 
revolver,  very  jmall  and  finished.  The  large  eyes  still 
stood  open.    They  gazed  towards  the  table.    By  its  edge 


I 


AWAY  OVBR  IN  ENGLAND 


SH 


was  a  photograph  of  Burio  Brassoff,  taken  twenty  years 
before.  It  was  half  obliterated  in  places  by  frequent 
kissing. 

'  You  can  keep  it,'  she  said  to  the  dvomik,  through  a 
ghastly  gurgle  of  blood.  '  And  the  revolver,  too,  that 
Burio  Brassoff  shot  himself  with.' 


OHAFTEBLn. 

AWAT  OVBB  IN  BNGLAMD. 

It  was  a  clear  March  day  in  London — a  rare  day  for  the 
time  of  the  year;  bright,  mild,  and  springlike.  The 
breeze  blew  fresh;  the  sun  shone  merrily.  Fleecy 
clouds  floated  high  overhead  against  a  deep-blue  back- 
ground. For  though  the  calendar  said  March,  the  day 
seemed  April.  lonS,  like  a  gleam  of  English  spring 
herself,  had  been  shopping  in  Kegent  Street,  and  meant 
to  call  on  her  way  home  at  Owen's  new  office  in  Mr. 
Hayward's  building.  So  she  tripped  along  the  wrong 
side  of  the  street,  that  brilliant  busy  afternoon,  as  blithe 
as  though  Czars  and  Nihilists  were  not.  To  Ion6,  indeed, 
in  her  irrepressible  youth  and  strength  and  health  and 
beauty,  on  such  a  day  as  this,  the  mere  physical  joy  of 
living  overbore  every  other  earthly  consideration. 

She  was  too  buoyant  to  grieve  over  long.  Neither 
poor  Blackbird's  sad  death,  which  she  felt  deeply  at  the 
time,  nor  her  own  engagement  delayed,  nor  the  impend- 
ing terror  above  Owen's  head,  could  wholly  cloud  or 
darken  that  glad  Greek  nature — especially  when  all  the 
world  around  was  steeped  in  sunshine,  and  a  bris\ 
south-west  wind  was  blowing  free  over  the  land,  laden 
warm  with  soft  moisture  from  the  joyous  Atlantic.  It 
blew  lond's  chestnut  hair  mischievously  about  her 
translucent  ears,  and  played  strange  tricks  at  times 
with  the  wayward  skirt  of  her  simple  little  walking- 
dress. 

lond  had  been  in  pursuit  of  spring  frocks,  and  was  in 
Tory  good  spirits ;  for  though  it  pleased  her  to  live  for  pure 


Si« 


UNDBlt  SBALBD  ORBBM 


love  of  it  in  Sacha's  servantless  phalanstery,  she  was  Miply 
provided  with  this  world's  goods  by  her  father's  will,  and 
to-day  she  had  been  spending  her  money  freely,  as  a 
woman  loves  to  spend  it,  on  her  personal  adornment. 
The  joy  of  living  had  been  reinforced  for  the  moment  by 
the  joy  of  purchasing.  Her  light  step  reh  nded  from 
the  dead  flags  of  Begent  Street  almost  ar  ^tioally  ai 
from  the  springy  turf  of  the  chalk  downs  au  iniooT  HiU. 
A  painter  who  chanced  to  pass  turned  round  as  she  went 
by  to  watch  her  go ;  with  that  eager  young  face,  those 
laughing  eyes,  that  graceful  ease  of  motion,  what  a  model, 
he  thought,  she  would  have  made  for  the  merriest  of  the 
Oreads  !  And,  oh  t  indiscreet  south-west  wind,  even  as 
he  looked  and  admired,  what  passing  glimpses  you 
revealed  of  twinkling  feet  and  ankles  that  the  Oread 
herself  might  well  have  envied ! 

On  a  sudden,  at  the  corner,  as  she  danced  along  lightly, 
with  her  eye  for  the  most  part  intent  on  the  hats  and 
bonnets,  a  poster  caught  her  glance,  laid  fiat  on  the 
ground  with  flaring  big  letters.  'Nihilist  Outrage  in 
Moscow,'  it  said,  in  all  the  startling  emphasis  of  its  very 
largest  type.  *  Murder  of  General  Selistoff  by  Prince 
Burio  Brassoff.  Suicide  of  the  Prince.  Death  of  Madame 
Mirefif.' 

The  last  name  alone  must  certainly  have  riveted  long's 
attention,  even  without  the  others;  but  it  was  with  a 
quick  flush  of  excitement  that  she  read  the  first  words 
as  well;  for  though  she  knew  nothing  positive  as  yet 
as  to  Mr.  Hayward's  past,  she  felt  sure  at  that  moment 
it  must  be  he,  and  no  other,  who  had  committed  this 
final  act  of  deadly  yengeance  on  the  oppressors  of  his 
Fatherland.  And  she  trembled  with  indignation,  already, 
at  the  bare  words,  *  Nihilist  Outrage.'  How  dare  they — 
the  cowards  I  He  was  Owen's  friend,  and  hers.  Dear, 
dear  Mr.  HaywardI  Who  should  venture  to  confound 
such  an  act  as  his  with  mere  vulgar  and  commonplace 
self-seeking  murder  ? 

She  bought  the  paper  hurriedly,  giving  the  boy  a 
■hilling,  and  never  waiting  for  her  change  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment.  Then,  just  round  the  corner,  she 
tore  it  open  with  feverish  fingers  and  read  the  Moscow 


▲WAY  OVER  IN  ENGLAND 


|I9 


telegmm.    It  was  short  but  decisiye.    She  knew  ^rhat 
it  meant  instinotively. 

'Early  this  morning,  r  Nihilist  prisoner,  arrested 
yesterday  in  the  Bue  du  Bazar  Slaye,  and  confidently 
identified  with  Prince  Buric  Brassoff,  the  famous  revolu- 
tionary agitator  and  exile,  was  brought  up  for  examina- 
tion at  the  tribunal  of  political  police  before  General 
Alexis  Selistoff,  Chief  of  the  Third  Section.  What  hap- 
pened during  the  interview  is  not  yet  thoroughly  under- 
stood, as  only  Madame  Mireff,  the  Bussian  lady  so  well 
known  in  London  society,  was  present  in  the  room  with 
the  two  principals.  The  police  are  also  very  reticent. 
It  has  transpired,  however,  that,  after  a  short  but  stormy 
colloquy,  the  accused  managed  to  possess  himself  of  a 
loaded  revolver,  which  he  may  perhaps  have  concealed 
about  his  own  person,  and  fired  on  General  Selistoff, 
whom  he  wounded  fatally.  The  General  fell  dead  in  his 
ohair  at  the  first  shot.  The  door  was  then  forced  by 
the  sentries  on  guard,  who  were  just  in  time  to  see 
Fijince  Buric  Brassoff  hold  the  revolver  to  his  own  head 
and  blow  his  brains  out.  An  envelope,  supposed  to  con- 
tain a  critical  statement  as  to  the  Nihilist  conspiracy, 
which  the  police  had  secured,  and  to  which  both  General 
Selistoff  and  his  assailant  attached  the  greatest  im- 
portance, is  reported  missing.  The  murderer's  body  is 
said  to  be  horribly  disfigured.  Great  consternation  pre- 
vails everywhere  in  Moscow,  and  the  Grand-Duke  Sergius, 
Governor  of  the  city,  has  issued  at  once  a  written  pro- 
clamation putting  the  town  and  banliette  in  a  state  of  siege 
till  further  notice.' 

'  Later. — Madame  Olga  Mireff,  who  alone  was  an  eye- 
witness of  the  deadly  fracas  between  General  Alexis 
Selistoff  and  his  murderer.  Prince  Brassoff,  has  com- 
mitted suicide  in  her  apartments  at  the  Hotel  de  I'lm- 
p6ratrioe  with  the  same  pistol  which  was  used  in  tho 
affair  of  the  Third  Section.  The  whole  incident  is  thus 
wrapped  in  the  profoundest  mystery.  It  is  now  generally 
Burmised  that  Madame  Mireff  herself,  though  an  intimate 
friend  of  the  Imperial  Family,  may  in  lecret  have  been 
affiliated  to  tht  Nihilist  conspiracy,  and  it  is  even  sug- 
gMted  tb»t  the  toppUed  Brassoff  with  the  fatal  revolvec 


3» 


UNDER  SBALBD  ORDERS 


Otherwise  her  suicide  remains  wholly  inezplicablt. 
Numerous  arrests  have  been  made  in  the  quarter  of  the 
sectaries.  Trade  and  communications  are  entirely 
paralyzed.* 

With  the  paper  grasped  tight  in  her  trembling  fingers, 
lond  rushed  round,  all  on  fire,  to  Owen's  office.  She 
\iad  no  doubt  as  to  the  truth  in  her  own  mind  now.  Mr. 
Hay  ward  was  dead;  but  he  had  died  nobly  fighting; 
and  he  had  protected  Owen  to  the  last — for  the  envelope 
was  missing.  Murderer  indeed  1  Murderer  1  The  he  I 
The  insult  I  Dare  they  speak  so  of  the  dead  ?  lond's 
face  burned  red  at  it. 

She  reached  the  shop,  quivoring  hot  with  shame  and 
indignation.  As  she  entered,  she  thrust  the  paper  into 
Owen's  hands.  He  read  it,  and  sank  into  a  chair,  as  pale 
as  death. 

'  And  I  brought  this  on  him  I'  he  cried,  wringing  his 
hands  in  his  agony.  *  lond,  lond,  it  was  for  me  he 
did  it  r 

<  No,  no  t'  lond  cried  hotly.  '  He  brought  it  open 
himself.  You  were  only  the  occasion,  not  in  any  sense 
the  cause.  He  did  what  was  just.  And  his  life  hasn't 
gone  for  nothing,  either.  He  has  died  a  martyr.  It  wai 
the  end  he  would  have  wished.  In  Russia — at  Moscow 
— by  his  father's  home — waging  open  war  against  the 
tools  of  the  tyranny  I' 

Two  days  later  Madame  MirefiTs  letter  arrived.  It 
bore  the  Berlin  post-mark.  Owen  read  it  with  lond  in 
breathless  silence.  When  he  had  finished,  the  strone 
man  clasped  his  hands  like  a  child,  and  cried  aloud  and 
bitterly  over  that  simple  narrative.  He  had  lost  a  father. 
But  for  lond  it  was  natural  she  should  think  most  of 
Owen's  safety.  Her  heart  came  up  into  her  mouth  with 
sudden  joy  at  those  words.  '  No  one  else  had  seen  it.' 
Then,  Owen  was  free  at  last  I  No  living  soul  on  earth 
save  themselves  and  Sacha  now  knew  the  secret  of  hit 
true  name  and  ancestry. 

She  said  nothing  at  the  time.  She  only  held  Owen't 
hand  olasped  tight  in  hers,  and  smoothed  it  tenderly. 
But  that  erening,  as  they  eat  alone  in  the  drawing-room 
at  the  fiat— Trevor  tiid  Saoha  had  left  them  together  for 


AWAY  OVER  IN  ENGLAND 


321 


half  an  hour  on  purpose— she  looked  at  Owen  suddenly, 
and,  obeying  a  natural  impulse,  fell  on  his  neok  at  once 
with  a  great  flood  of  joyous  tears. 

*  My  darling,'  she  said  simply,  '  I  can't  bear  to  say  it 
while  you're  so  sad  and  troubled.  And  I'd  learnt  to 
love  him,  too.  He  was  so  kind,  so  fatherly.  But,  Owen, 
I  can't  help  it ;  it's  such  a  relief  to  me  to  know  you've 
nothing  more  to  fear.     I'm  glad  it's  all  over.    The  strain 

was  so  terrible.'  i^,    a  i.     i.  • 

Owen  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  smoothed  her  hair 

with  his  hand.  ,   -,    •  -i.  i. 

«  For  your  sake,  darling,'  he  said,  *  I'm  glad  of  it,  too 

— I'm  glad  of  it.' 
lon^  laid  her  head,  nestling,  upon  his  shoulder,  and 

sobbed.  .  ..    .3      • 

'  And  now,  darling,'  she  went  on,  in  a  very  timid  voice, 

'there's    no    reason   on   earth *     She  paused   and 

trembled. 
'No  reason  on   earth  why  we  two,  who  love  one 

another  so  well,  shouldn't  henceforth  be  one.    No,  loni, 

no  reason.'    He  kissed  her  forehead  tenderly.    •  Af  •con 

as  you  will,  dearest.' 


It 


li^l 


CHECKERS 


4 


A  Hard  Luck  Story 

By  HENRY  M.  BLOSSOM,  Jr. 
Author  of  "The  Documents  in  Evidence*^ 


Abounds  in  the  most  racy  and  picturesque  slang.— 
N.  Y, Record:/. 

"Checkers"  is  an  interesting  and  entertaining  chap, 
a  distinct  type,  with  a  separate  tongue  and  a  way  of  say- 
ing things  that  is  oddly  humorous.— C^z^a^t?  Record. 

If  I  had  to  ride  from  New  York  to  Chicago  on  a  slow 
train,  I  should  like  a  half-dozen  books  as  gladsome  as 
"Checkers,"  and  I  could  laugh  at  the  trip.— A^.  Y.  Com- 
mercial Advertiser. 

"  Checkers"  himself  is  as  distinct  a  creation  as  Chim- 
mie  Fadden  and  his  racy  slang  expresses  a  liveler  wit. 
The  racing  part  is  clever  reporting  and  as  horsey  and 
"up-to-date  as  any  one  couid  ask.  The  slang  of  the 
race-course  is  caught  with  skill  and  is  vivid  and  pictur- 
esque, and  students  of  the  byways  of  language  may  find 
some  new  gems  of  colloquial  speech  to  S'M  to  their 
lexicons. — Springfield  Republican. 


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OR  THE   DECREES  OF  FATE 

A  Romance  Founded  Upon  Events  in  American  History. 
By  Charles  Felton  Pidgin 

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BY  RIGHT  OF  SWORD 

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A  DASH  FOR  A  THRONE 

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IN  THE  NAME  OF  A  WOMAN 

With  illustrations  by  D.  Murray  Smith. 

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